Betwixt and Between
by Lily Swan
Summary: Have you ever had a secret? Something you're unwilling to share: a desire, a wish, a confession? Well what if you had a deadly secret... A secret that had the power to change everything. A secret that you didn't even know you possessed.
1. Prologue

**(A/N: _I AM ALIVE._** I mean: BOO! Bet none of you suspected this, eh, EH?! Yep. It's another fanfic. A _Harry Potter_ fanfic. And I know, I really shouldn't do this, I'm already waaaay behind on Eternal Desire, but I figured, what the hell - I've had this idea buzzing around in my head for ages. And it's probably rubbish - but it won't leave me alone. *Oh, and did anyone notice. The babble is _not _in **bold**…Yes, you may gasp*

So, I'll give you the story: I feel immensely guilty, seeing as I'm about to go gallivanting off to _New Zealand_, which means I won't update for a whole_ 5 weeks. _(And that's going on the assumption that the second I get off the plane, completely deaf *I have dementedly-sensitive-to-pressure-ears*, utterly Jetlagged, and head brimful of Russian History; *typically - my History exam is on the day I get back* I go running off to write you all the next chapter.)

So, because of this horrible, twisty guilt that keeps eating at my stomach, I thought I'd give you all a little else to read. No, for those who were too lazy to check the description, this is _not _a Twilight fanfic. It's a Harry Potter one. Except I don't think the certain scar-headed myopic eyed hero's even going to _appear _in this one. Now please keep in mind that I _will _carry on updating Eternal Desire; I'm just having a bit of a change :p

Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill me.

To all new readers: WELCOME! (Ha. I've already scared you all off, haven't I?) Do please review - I need to know if you like this; if not, I won't continue with the plot I've thought up (yes. There's a plot.) I don't care how monosyllabic your review is, anything will make me happy. But the best reviews will receive a Sneak Peaky (for all ignorant people who are thinking '_Well what the heck is a Sneaky Peaky_?!': That would be a sneak peek.) of the next chapter.

Now. It's short. (Heh, this A/N's taking up half of it… :s) Prologues are MEANT to be short. Before all you reviewers with pointy things start throwing, _the pointy things _at me, bear in mind, that it was MEANT to be short. (Trust me. It's flipping hard to write so little…) To be perfectly honest, I think this is probably too _long _for a prologue. I'm giving a bit too much away. Ah well. I'm just going to count on you all not being too intelligent and working everything out.

So do me a favour would you? Try and be thick when reading this ;)

Yup. I shall SHUT UP. And let you read the oh-so-exciting-prologue!**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan_

**Prologue **

My eyes adjust to the gloom; the darkness is splintered with a faint light. A pulsating glow. And I know that if I let my gaze seek further I'll see him. I know I'll try to escape. Take the weaker option and hide.

Instead, I walk forward. It's come down to this. Somehow, I always knew it would. Always knew it was too dreamlike, too perfect, too _surreal_. But it's better this way. It's _meant to be_. You couldn't run from your future, and you couldn't hide from your past. Life was like a giant game of chess; and I was just another pawn.

_But I could have stopped this_...

The nagging thought hits me, and my heart rate increases, so loud now - I'm sure he can hear it. My eyes flicker up from the floor, I stare obstinately my hands. They're white. Trembling. I knot them together, unwilling to let him see how scared I've become.

A cold envelops me. And it hits me. This is the end. This is _it_.

_So why am I staring at my hands?_

I look up to him. See his cold, virulent face. The twisted features, the sadistic gleam in his stoic eyes. The cold, impenetrable fury at what I've done. And I smile at him. _Grin_. Because I've stopped him, and he doesn't even realise it. I can tell my happiness infuriates him, his jaw tautens, but he doesn't act - not yet. He's watching me, waiting for me to beg - to scream. I carry on smiling. I use the name he despises, and the one he can't escape from.

"I'll see you in hell, Tom."

His scarlet eyes flash. His features twist, now set in a rictus of fury.

Yet suddenly there is a crash at the door. And _he's _standing there. Perfect and alive and _fighting_. And for a heartbeat I think I've done the wrong thing. Read everything incorrectly. His eyes meet mine, and raw fear shines in them.

And then, for a blissful, _beautiful_ moment, everything stops. I forget that I'm scared; I forget the cold; I forget that I'm about to die.

I forget everything except _him_.

And the doubt creeps up on me, like ice trickling down my spine, my mind screaming at me, tears falling down my cheeks. Because I was wrong. I'm always wrong.

_He's Alive_…

Suddenly everything speeds up again. He's shouting, running, trying to stop him, trying to save _me_…

But I see the wand rise; see the blinding green light; see his lips move, emitting the silent cry and then-

I've fallen.

***

**(A/N: **Yes. That's the prologue. And yes, it is confusing. But hey! We've got a whole story - *cough* yeah… it's going to go on for a while… - to figure out what it means. I'm not _entirely _sure if I'll continue with this story, so please say if you'd be interested in reading it :p But hey - even if NO ONE reads it, I'll probably end up writing it for my own enjoyment anyway. ;D And I'm going to say this one more time - seeing as I bet half of the comments I'll receive, well, _hope _to receive, will be along the lines of: "Why haven't you UPDATED YET?!" I will, will, _will _update Eternal Desire. It's far from over, never fear.**)**

**Sneak Peek of Next Chapter:**

I chide myself for thinking like this. I know I'm staring, but I can't pull my eyes away. For some reason I want him to see me. There's a feverish look in his eyes as the dart around the station, he's on the balls on his feet; I can tell he's impatient. And I can see the same longing to escape on his mind.

I notice all these things, because he looks exactly how I _feel_.

***

**~ Best comments will receive an extended Sneak Peaky...**_ *well, unless I'm not present :p*_

Lily - who wonders if the act of not asking for readers to do a certain thing that starts with '**r**' and ends with '**w**' (she didn't say it ONCE! 'Comments' doesn't count :p) will somehow work in her favour… hmmm…


	2. Chapter 1: Invisible in the Fray

**Disclaimer**: All Harry Potter characters belong to JK, as does the world in which this story is set in. I'm not stealing them, I'm merely planning to torture them, add a few of my own, perhaps kill a few, and skew their grip on reality. It's all harmless, honest.

**(A/N: **I, Lily, am a genius. (Though technically, you should already know this :p) Look. I'm posting a chapter of this, whilst I'm in New Zealand, instead of when I get back (this weekend) because I will be locked up in my room, muttering furiously about Russia and all of its stupid revolutions for my much despised and dreaded History exam.

Please note, that I'm in a _café _doing this. I've traipsed (yes. I traipse) around Wellington (that would be the capital) in the early morning after suffering through shopping, searching for an internet café, and after much effort - I've found one. Yup. It's ridiculous really, the efforts I got to :p So! As a late Christmas and late New Year treat, I'm giving you a chapter. Nice huh?

The almighty number of 10! That's 10 lovely reviews. So 8 more than I got for the first chapter of Eternal Desire (which, I _will _update. Patience people, _patience_.) A special thanks to _Jade Lyssy Swan_ (for not forgetting me :p); _Kats and Twilight_ (for the lovely long review); _Blue Tulips_ (for hitting me with the killing curse); Ylena Nair (who will be the offical person to plan my funeral); _BellaandEdward4EVER2580_ and all of the anon reviewers (who I would love to reply to if they got an account *cough*hint, hint, _hint_!*cough* too!)

See? Don't _you_ *points finger Kitchener style* want to be on that list? Wouldn't it make you feel all warm and fuzzy? ... *snorts*

So, without further ado I present the chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Review, and I'll send you a virtual hug - that, no doubt, will be the cause for me receiving no reviews in the future. You should be grateful. I hardly ever hug people.

An hey… you know what? I'm doing exceedingly well babble-wise here, look - there's barely _any _- I think I deserve applause. :p**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan _

Chapter 1:

**Invisible in the Fray **

I sigh to myself as we drive in silence, watching the raindrops trickle down the window screen, catching up on one another, and merging together - combining to make a faster fall.

I let my fingers trace patterns across the droplets on the other side of the glass, and I feel a familiar tug at the back of my mind, the one that reminds me of my lack of sleep last night. My eyes flicker with the temptation of sleep, and before I can repress the sound - I yawn.

"Cover your mouth." The cold, abrupt voice of my father breaks the silence. My mother jumps slightly. It makes me fumble, stupidly with my hands, covering my mouth too late.

But then everything is still again.

I turn back to the window and I am struck with the plainness of it all. It's grey outside. Dark, grey, and damp. Other cars are passing each over slowly, the traffic is congealing ahead. The raindrops are still chasing each over down the window, and I resort back to staring a them. I close my eyes.

I still don't know what to make of going to Kings Cross Station. I suppose I should be happy - elated even; that, after all, had been my first reaction on reading the letter. When my eyes had devoured the spindled writing scrawled across the thick parchment. I'd felt so thrilled, so happy, so _accepted. _

At least, until I'd told my parents.

My mother, perhaps, looked merely shocked at first. And for those first brief moments when her eyes scanned the page, I stood - breathless from having sprinted down the stairs - waiting. Anticipating her glee; expecting her to be wildly impressed at such an achievement on my behalf; predicting her to smile back at me, her eyes shining in pride.

I hadn't expected her to cry.

Softly at first, so subtle I thought they were perhaps tears of joy. Until they flowed faster, splattering against the parchment, making the ink bleed and run. That was when my smile had faltered. The palpable tension had begun to thicken in the air. But it was also when my father had looked up from his workload, the frown that seemed to be etched onto his face deepening. The glint in his ever hardening eyes.

He looked at me first, before even sparing a glance to my mother, and I'd wanted to run.

Never had I seen so much hatred in a man's gaze.

He crossed the room quickly, briskly brushing past me in an attempt to read the letter himself, my mother held on to it with trembling fingers, unwilling to give it to him, her bottom lip quivering. My father stared at her for a long moment. Hours, minutes, perhaps only seconds of silence passed between the pair, before she handed it over, looking to the floor. My father's stoic eyes read the parchment, his fist clenching.

Eventually he looked back at me, my wide eyes now set in an ash white face.

"Go to your room." He'd said the words with a deathly kind of silence, one that only arose in his ire, my knees had felt weak and I'd stayed where I stood - rooted to the spot. There was a heartbeat in which I realised how I was acting.

_Disobediently_.

My father's eyes flashed in fury.

"I said, _go_."

I hadn't needed telling again. I'd come to my senses, running up the stairs, tripping in my haste, but not before I heard my mother speak, her voice so broken, so withdrawn - it sounded as if someone had died.

I didn't realise that words that left her lips would forever be imprinted in my mind. A mocking memory that refused to disappear.

"_She__'__s one of _them_…_"

***

"This explains it then." I am brought sharply out my memory by my father's voice. He waits for someone to ask 'what?'. To want to know what explains 'what?'. But no one speaks. No one dares to contradict.

Another silence ensues.

He continues as if someone had replied. "We now know why you've been acting as you have-" For a second I think he's about to address me by my name, but his voice falters, he coughs dryly. They haven't called me by my name since the letter. Another pause, and then, his voice sounding almost constricted he says: "It's confirmation."

I know what confirmation he's talking about; everyone in the car does. Confirmation that I am what people at school have jeered at me for being for so long, confirmation that the negative test results are true, confirmation that I was born this way.

Confirmation that I'm a _freak_.

My mother still sits by his side in silence, and in a wild moment of imagination I see her shouting back. Standing up to him for once.

But she doesn't. She never has.

That's just not who she is.

"If this place is what it _claims _to be," Scepticism practically drips off his words, "then she won't be alone in the 'oddity' department. Hopefully this will teach her not to act so childishly."

I try not to listen to him, pressing my forehead against the glass of the window. It's cold and clammy, and my head starts to freeze up. But I don't care. It's a penance I'm willing to pay. A pain I half _need _to feel.

But I can still hear him.

"Never was that good at work, come to think of it. Her Maths is good, English fine - should be so with the amount of time she reads," He mutters something - no doubt a degrading comment - about that last part, "but what about those French lessons? Failed them, didn't she? And her Biology is only mediocre-" My mother cuts across his angry voice.

"She's only 11, she's far better than most her age, the school was always praising her..." She trails off at his expression.

"_Praise_?" He mutters, not looking at her, "a few certificates? These aren't the sort of things that get you far in life."

I still don't speak. I'm not meant to. If I spoke my father would turn the car around. We'd be speeding right back to Bristol before you could say: 'magic' I half want to retaliate to these taunts. But I don't. As far as he cares; I don't exist anymore.

"Vivian was right about her then, Claire," My father says to my mother abruptly, addressing her by a name I haven't heard him use in months. It's always 'dear' now, or 'wife' or some other term people only use when angry. He continues, his voice the dead monotone I've come to relate to a mixture of unpleasant things.

"And Vivian thinks that she would have been better off back in London. We could still go. We're on the way, after all." A cold chill runs up my spine. Not London. My memory flits back to the grey walls, the institute in which I was kept for four months. The place where screams echo like a cruel parody of music continuously throughout the night.

"I don't agree with Vivian's views." My mother says sharply, I hold my breath, but my father doesn't shout back, merely breathes deeply, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. When he speaks, it is through clenched teeth.

"Yes, well _Vivian_," He puts emphasis on her name, "is a neurologist. You, dearest, are a part time English teacher. I think we both know who thinks best for our daughter,"

"_Our _daughter, John," My mother says quietly, I'm surprised she's held out for this long this time, "our daughter. Not Vivian's experiment; not the institutes' project; not an abnormality. Our _daughter_."

"She _is _an abnormality." He spits her, "We've known that for 5 years." And his tone is so harsh, so virulent, my mother slumps once more back into her seat, the very fight and life of her seeping away again.

The silence is broken by the staccato drillings of my father's nails against the wheel. We're slowing down. There are roadworks ahead of us. My father curses under his breath. "Bloody traffic." He murmurs.

And we continue in that silence, the tension never ceasing, until we reach the station.

***

We're standing on the platform. My father's arguing with a man in florescent attire, asking where platform 9 ¾ is. I thought this would happen - my parents refused the advice of the little man who'd appeared on our doorstep. A wizard apparently. I'd been scared for him, father had been particularly angry when he'd arrived, and wizard or no wizard - the man simply looked too small to deal with father's wrath.

But the little man had stayed, telling my parents about Hogwarts, explaining everything. I'd been allowed to listen to this; he'd called me a 'muggleborn' to which my father had let out a derisive laugh: _"__I take it that means she__'__s abnormal?__"_The small wizard had said no, that many pupils at Hogwarts were from muggle families. I'd been silent the entire time. I couldn't understand it.

_If I was muggleborn, then what was with my mother's reaction?_

I shake off the thought. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm here now. I'm going. Despite everything, there's a certain excitement about all of this. It means I'm not a freak. I'll be away from home for a long time. I could start afresh. People wouldn't exclude me for my powers. Heck, I'll be learning _magic_!

I quickly stop thinking like that, catching myself. My father's coming towards us. His face is set - the cold mask is back. My stomach knots.

"Were you smiling?" He asks coldly, "Do you find wasting my time amusing?" I shake my head jerkily. He narrows his eyes, taking my hand.

To the other people on this platform, the notion probably looks normal - affectionate even. A father and daughter walking, hand in hand.

In reality it's different. My hand is cold and clammy; his grip constricts my fingers, nails digging in to my skin so sharply I bite my lip to suppress a whimper.

"The controller said there is no _platform 9__¾_," My father says to me. He enunciates the last few words, his tone laced with scepticism and triumph. "So we're leaving."

Raw panic grips me. I feel the mad urge to wrench my hand free from his constricting grip.

"No!" I say, the words bubbling to my lips before I can stop them. He turns to look at me, his grey eyes hard and unforgiving. "I mean-" I try to say quickly, "I mean, please, father - please, just let me look-"

He slaps me, and I gasp in shock, the stinging sensation staying against my skin long after his palm has touched it. I look around, widening my eyes - trying to stop the tears.

Nobody in the vicinity has even noticed.

"_Never _talk back to me." He warns. I nod, still trying not to cry. My father carries on walking, pulling me along with him, striding to where my mother stands, looking awkward with my trunk of supplies the small wizard gave to us.

My mother is nervous. I can tell this because she keeps tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. I've inherited that trait. I'm always smoothing down my clothes; entwining my fingers to stop them when they tremble; biting my lip. Little things that tell a lot about how anxious I am. Involuntary things that tell others too much about me.

I've got her hair too - but mine's pulled back, fastened intricately with pins. I didn't do that. I couldn't care less about my appearance; but here I stand, smart and prim. The picture of perfection from the outside. My mother's like that. Obsessive when it comes to work, to cleaning, to _presentation_.

I don't know why it even matters. I'm invisible in the fray of the station, passed by and unnoticed.

The tendril of mahogany hair is free again, and she smoothes it back for the fifth time.

My father's hands stop her, and she looks up into his grey eyes with her caramel ones.

I don't miss the fear that flits across them.

"She's going to the institute, Claire." He says, his tone final. "I've made my decision."

I look up to my mother, my eyes wide and imploring. And in the few seconds that I stare at her, I see courage behind the fear she's lived in for so long. The state of purgatory she's lived in since I was sent to the institute.

"I think we should let Iris go, John." I could kiss her. She's said my name. It's not much, but it lets me know I haven't completely failed her - she catches my eye, and a glimmer of the life I love sparkles in her fawn eyes.

But suddenly the fear settles back into her features, her lips pressing together as she stares at my father.

"She's _going _to the _institute_." He grits out, teeth clenched together.

"Do you regard-" She pauses, and suddenly, there's a spiteful edge to her normally soft tone "_Vivian _higher than you do _me_?"

"Considering she's a neurologist Claire, yes, maybe I do-"

"Oh, _please _do not tell me you just said what I thought you said…"

"Look, she's well known for academic success, she's intelligent so I like her and the-"

"Then why are you here?" My mother's voice has become shrill now, bordering on the verge of hysteria. "If you _like _her that much, why don't you-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Claire. I don't like her like that-"

But I'm not listening to them anymore. Because across from us stands a family. A family of four. A mother, father and two sons. Perfectly ordinary.

If it weren't for those ridiculously large trunks… and owls… and _robes_.

My heart races excitedly. The inner eleven year old in me wanting to burst free. _It is real_, my mind whispers, _they__'__re going to Hogwarts too! _

Dimly, I can still hear my mother and father bickering beside me. But my attention is still captured on the family, trying to see where they were going. I squint slightly, annoyed by how busy the station is.

There are two boys dressed in black, one stands curtly by his mother's side, whereas the other peers eagerly over the mass of people, excitement plain in his handsome features. This boy isn't standing so close to his family, unlike the other boy - now getting kissed by his mother on each cheek. His hair's longer too - casually falling into his eyes, where as the other boy's (who I assume is his brother) hair is cropped short. The boy with longer hair grabs my attention. He seems sharper than the other. If I was drawing - I'd make him stand out, whereas the rest would be shrouded in shadow, blended into the background of the station.

He's like a bright star in the shadowed night.

I chide myself for thinking like this. I know I'm staring, but I can't pull my eyes away. For some reason I want him to see me. There's a feverish look in his eyes as the dart around the station, he's on the balls on his feet, I can tell he's impatient. And I can see the same longing to escape on his mind.

I notice all these things, because looks exactly how I _feel_.

The mother scowls when she turns to the boy with longer hair - she isn't kissing him. In fact her entire demeanour shifts from love to hostility. He turns back to her, and the same amount of distaste is in his expression. Then he turns to me, and catches my eye. I'm staring at him. Surprise and shock chase each other across his expression before he raises one eyebrow, shooting an amused look that clearly says:

"_See something you like_?"

Despite myself, I feel heat flood my face, and I quickly look down. But snap my head up almost as quickly. Horror fills me; the boy has vanished, my eyes search wildly, and I almost sigh in relief when I see the other boy's still standing there.

He's gripping his trolley tightly, a look of determination set in his features.

I probably look as tense as he does; I force myself not to blink. I _have _to see how they do it.

The boy is smiling to his mother, waving goodbye, and then he's running - full pelt towards the ticket barrier between platforms nine and ten. I hold in a gasp.

_He's going to crash! The idiot - he'll get hurt!_

But he never hits the barrier.

"What are you ogling at, girl?" My father's brusque tone breaks me out of my trance, but I still can't prise my eyes away from the barrier. _How had he done it? _"Wipe that ditzy look off your face. We're leaving." At this, I turn wildly around to stare at my mother. She's crying. Tears are falling silently down her pale cheeks. Defeat, etched across her face.

_He's finally broken her._

I feel numb. My father's hands become manacles around my thin wrists. He's pulling me away, away from the mother of the two boys. Away from the station. _Away from freedom._

I drag my heels into the ground, forcing my father to stop. He's too surprised to stop me when I grab the trolley's handles, too shocked that I've gone against his orders.

"What are you?-" He glares at me, his face reddening in embarrassment - several people have started to stare at us now. But I don't care. I don't give a damn what they think. I'm not giving up - not yet. "_Iris_," My father hisses at me, as if saying my name will stop me, "Stop this nonsense _right now_." I do. I look up at him, still gripping the trolley tightly, my knuckles turning white.

"No father," My voice doesn't shake anymore. "I've had enough." I stare at him for a second longer, before stamping as hard as I can on his foot - making him relinquish his grip on me.

I don't wait to think upon my actions.

In one, reckless, wild burst of courage - I'm sprinting away from them, steering my trolley in direction of where the two boys with dark hair had vanished. A mixture of thrill and pure adrenaline sings through my veins, and I feel like I'm finally alive - awoken from a nightmare.

But the adrenaline is spiked with something else now.

The barrier suddenly looks a lot more solid than before. Fear hits me halfway through my sprint.

It is made from metal. Solid, hard, impenetrable _metal_. And I'm sprinting towards it.

_This is stupid. I'm going too fast. I'm going to crash. Oh God, oh God, oh God…_

But I never hit it.

***

**(A/N: **Mhmmmm. Chapter numero uno. And no, it's not that exciting…_yet_. Crucial word there everyone: yet. It'll pick up soon ;)

For anyone interested *cue the chirping crickets* I had a great Christmas, and received a toy nelephant from my dad. A real toy _nelephant_. It's lovely. And I've named it: "The Rather Runty Nelephant" or just "Runty" for short, because it's very small, and fits nicely into the palm of my hand ;) - ha. For anyone who doesn't know what a nelephant is, I'll put in a definition. Memorise it, for I'm sure I'll use it again.

**Nelephant**: _A very large mammal, traditionally grey or brown (though there are some pink species) that is significantly more superior than the average, and boring, elephant. Nelephants are believed to be worshipped creatures in the far East. It is said that the term 'nelephant' should be used frequently in conversation to keep in good health. The origin of the noun 'nelephant' is unclear though it is speculated that the word was first used in Britain. Nelephants are said to be creatures of great wisdom. _

But anyway: I really hoped you liked the chapter, and I've got _lots _more to come. Oh, and this line here: 'He's like a bright star in the shadowed night.' Yeah, I know, incredibly cheesy. But cheesy with a meaning too. I presume everyone know what the brightest star is? Hmmm? :p And guess what? I've already written the next chapter! So, if you erm, _comment_, *heh, I know, not so subtle this time…* you won't even have to wait... Think of that? Finally a decently timed update.

Perhaps hell's freezing over.

Oh, almost forgot: please** REVIEW! - **Remember, there are pretty-damn-special virtual hugs up on offer**)**

**Sneak Peek** (otherwise known as the almighty _Sneaky Peaky_)** of Next Chapter:**

"Do you ride in a… _car_? And do you kill people with those chunky metal wands that are banana shaped? You know… do you use nuns?" James is staring at me, honest curiosity plain across his features. Sirius beside him looks mildly amused.

"Again, he means _guns_." James nods at his correction, and Sirius pats him on the arm a bit, muttering: "Nuns are the penguin-looking women, mate."

_***_

Lily - who wold be _delighted_ if you spared a few seconds to review, and who reccomends small, runty looking toy nelephants. They're highly entertaining.


	3. Chapter 2: Controlling the Chaos

**Disclaimer:** Evidently, in the space of time since last chapter I've managed to do a lot of things. I'm a productive sort of person. One of said things was gaining ownership to _Harry Potter_. See, I happily waltzed into JK's large mansion, demanded that I could have ownership over her books and all that they entail, she (obviously intimidated by my... power) accepted such terms, and thus - I now own _Harry Potter_. That's right. _Own_ it. This means I can happily butcher each and every character and make them all worship the Almighty Giant Squid. So there. Shame on those of you who doubted me.

Now. Twist all of those words, put the word 'not' in each sentence that starts with anything similiar to: 'I own' - and hey presto, you have the complete and utter truth.

**(A/N: **… Now, this chapter may confuse you. In fact, it's bound to confuse you. It confused _me_, and I was writing the thing! If you're not confused by the end of it - well done. You're obviously far more intelligent than I am. Actually, my babbling probably only contributes to the confusion. Kind of counter-effective. Thing is though - this entire chapter is mostly _designed _to confuse you, you've got to grasp the main points of it and that's about it. The details of it will play out the deeper we get into the plot (and trust me - it's a complex one :p) I'll give you a brief summary at the end so you're not too confused. But - bar the confusingness - I think you'll enjoy the chapter. :p

I appreciate ALL of the reviews thus far! **29** eh? Not bad ;) A big thanks to the reviewers: _Jade Lyssy Swan _(for what I say later about you - I'm not implying you have a beard); _Tangled Silken Traces_; _Spartans 2300_; _Shingie_; _Kats and Twilight_; _Caitriona Cullen_; _Ylena Nair_ (*gasp* so _that's_ where _Pyrogirl_ vanished to. I assumed she'd died in a terrible, terrible accident :p); _Your Guardian Angel_; and any other person who reviewed (I may have forgotten a few: if I forgot you - you've got permission to throw a blunt - and ONLY blunt - pencil at me) Perhaps after many, many updates from me, we'll get to 1000 reviews on this story too. Yeah. Long way off. _Really _long way off actually. I can dream though ;)

And, if you've read Eternal Desire - you'll notice the difference in tense in this story. It's _present _tense as apposed to past. Why? Because I'm fond of it. And I wanted to try writing like it. I think it suits the mood of this story better too. ;) If I slip up at all though - don't hesitate to go: "YOU'RE WRONG! _IDIOT_!" I won't be offended… much :p

I'm sorry this took a while to update, I had to tweak a few things to make sure everything runs smoothly. Oh! And I apologise! The Sneak Peek I gave at the end of last chapter will actually appear in the next one. Not. This. One. That's purely down to my own stupidity. On the good side… From now on, there'll be an update every week. Maybe more so. ;) I think Fridays sound like a nice day to update. And hey - I've updated on a Wednesday. Because they're nasty days. Not as nasty as Tuesdays perhaps - but still pretty nasty. (_Jade Lyssy Swan _has deciphered Tuesdays perfectly: '_it's a Tuesday, and Tuesdays SUCK. Don't they? Because they're not the end of the week, nor the beginning, and aren't even the middle._' Wise, wise words there. Akin to Dumbledore-like knowledge, I reckon. :p) But yeah. Wednesday's are equally bad. I dislike them. They're spelt oddly. That has to account to some sort of omen…

Oh, I'm not even making sense anymore, I'll shut up - enjoy the chapter!**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan_

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

In one, reckless, wild burst of courage - I'm sprinting away from them, steering my trolley in direction of where the two boys with dark hair had vanished. A mixture of thrill and pure adrenaline sings through my veins, and I feel like I'm finally alive - awoken from a nightmare.

But the adrenaline is spiked with something else now.

The barrier suddenly looks a lot more solid than before. Fear hits me halfway through my sprint.

It is made from metal. Solid, hard, impenetrable _metal_. And I'm sprinting towards it.

_This is stupid. I'm going too fast. I'm going to crash. Oh God, oh God, oh God…_

But I never hit it.

***

Chapter 2:

**Controlling the Chaos**

"I was at the ticket barrier,"

The memory leaves my lips in a whisper. Dumbledore is staring at me intently. I can tell he's waiting for me to continue, so I take a short, quick breath and try to remember it all. Try to remember the first time I saw Lord Voldemort.

Exactly five years ago. To this very day.

"The ticket barrier," I repeat, "I'd - I'd just got away from my parents… and then I was just running to it, ready to pass through, and I had this sudden flash - like a vision or something… and I everything went very still, and I felt like I was freezing… and then - then I saw _him_… and he was raising his wand - and someone was running, and there was screaming… and then…"

"Then?" He prompts after my brief silence.

"And then it just… stopped. All of it. Like I'd just woken up from a nightmare or something."

"Hmm," Dumbledore murmured quietly, "I see."

_Well, that's useful, since I certainly don't…_

I waited then, looking around Dumbledore's office. It didn't seem to change much, still full of mysterious instruments, walls still lined with the most curious of ornaments - all of which, probably had hidden magical properties. There are books too, hundreds of them, their leather bound spines encrypted in different coloured ink. I caught glimpses of their titles, unable not to be fascinated by them. Some I knew of course, but others catch my eye:

Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic; Unforgivable Curses and Their Legal Implications Volume 3; Magical Misdemeanours in Modern Law… I stop raking my eyes over them when I look at a particularly battered one - peeling silver ink on it's leather spine: _The Dark Arts: A Legal Companion_.

I feel a prickle of unease go up my spine at this.

Dumbledore follows my gaze, he chuckles slightly, not noticing my unease, "I should have known you'd figure it out," I snap my gaze back to him, a question ready to bubble out of my lips: _figured what out? _My confusion must be obvious on my face; Dumbledore smiles gently, and summons a book over, it lands directly in front of me. "The answer, of course, has been procured through one of your favourite hobbies," He indicates me to look at the title in golden ink: _A Bulla of Vicis quod Eo, _and below it, the English translation: _A Study of Travel and Time _"I trust you figured most of that out for yourself." I nod weakly, somehow, seeing it in print makes it suddenly more real.

_Time travel._

Scary concept, that one.

"It is a most curious thing, time." Dumbledore says, leaning closer to look at the book as I turn the page, "Time travel, perhaps, even more so. This book was written over a hundred years ago, by a man called Adrolfred Vrotsky - his theorem is a complex one. Brilliantly devised, but unorthodox. Effectively, he has found a way controlling the chaos that inevitably is part of time travel, though whether he was successful, we do not know. He vanished - supposedly dead - before this book was even published, you know," He looks pointedly at me, "and it is my guess, that he tried it on himself."

"Do you mean - did he? Did it work?" I jabber at him, eyes wide. Dumbledore holds my gaze for a second longer, and then breaks it, pacing slowly.

"We shall never know. But this book is the only one of it's kind. Vrotsky was unique in his ideas - this has never been tested before," Another significant pause, "I _urge _you to spend more time on your decision," He's stopped pacing, and walks back to the front desk, sitting down again to look at me. His voice is low and serious. "You must realise the risks that you are taking, the spell alone could kill-"

"I know that," I say impatiently. "Dumbledore, I'm sorry if I appear rude, but you _have _told me this about twenty times already…" He raises his eyebrows, "Sir," I add quickly, my face flushing.

He continues: "As I was saying," A slight cough, "Adrolfred Vrotsky has indeed achieved what he calls, 'time travel' but as I said - it is unorthodox. Volatile. There is no guarantee on when, or where you will return to. Concentration is essential. One slip of the mind - one thought - is enough to send you somewhere completely different." I bite my lip, and nod jerkily again, "He has conveniently _forgotten _of the violation of casualty. That being; should an effect precede its cause, it would give rise to the possibility of temporal paradox." For some reason, the seriousness in Dumbledore's eyes seemed worse now. Like there's an undertone of immense sadness behind it all.

"So…like the chaos theory?" I ask, "one action could change everything."

He lets out a small sigh, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, and no. It is complicated, please understand that, I cannot explain it to you fully - lest you get so confused you won't be able to grasp what is reality and what is not. In travelling to the past you are effectively changing history. That much is clear. What _Vrotksy _has forgotten to include however, is crucial: the possibility of parallel universes. His theory would point toward there having to be a physical dimension in which one could travel to, where the present (i.e: you sitting here with me in this very office) would be present at a point fixed in either the past or future. Understand?"

_Honestly? No. Not one bit. _

It was like he'd just jabbered in French or something, theories and laws of time seemed as confusing as Quantum Physics. Still though, I nod. Dumbledore doesn't seem entirely convinced. He waits patiently for me to say something.

"In…um… _English, _please…" I say weakly. He gives me that sad smile again, lightly taking the book off me, and placing it beneath a pile of papers.

"In other words: you will not remember your life, Miss Fall. Over time, flashes will come to you. Your purpose will present itself through key events, mere touches, split second moments like deja-vu. But your actual memories, your real _past_…" He sighs sadly, "It will be as inconsequential as the remnants of a forgotten dream, and may perhaps, never be known again."

_That's okay. It wasn't anything special to begin with._

"Will this fix things though?" I persist quietly, "Will it, Dumbledore? Will this stop him?"

He doesn't need to ask who I'm talking about.

"That, my dear," He says, looking over his half-moon glasses to meet my eyes, "depends entirely on you." I sink slowly back into the chair, a twisted knot forming in my stomach, doubt creeping up on me. It's silly too; I'd _expected _this, been prepared for it. Typical that it was _now _the nerves had begun to kick in.

"Right," I say, but in my head I'm backing away from the words. _Everything depends on me. _

It's like he can read my thoughts: "You, and your _actions_. Of course, such things are to be done in your complete and utter ignorance. You will not know of the task you have been set, nor will you be able to know it - at least not fully. Not until it is time." Dumbledore's soft voice sounds almost soporific now; I can't seem to focus on it. "You must remember: nothing is specifically set in place. There are laws to time, Miss Fall. You know this; and I am placing my complete trust in you to abide by such laws."

He waits expectantly; I nod a little too late.

Little tremors are starting in my hands again. I entwine my fingers together, stubbornly staring out of the window. The dawn is just beginning to settle out over the castle, wisps of mist weaving like ribbons just outside the glass.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Fall?"

It's only now that I realise my eyes are wet. I wipe at them quickly, turning back to face Dumbledore. His piercing blue eyes seem suddenly gentler. "You know you do not have to do this"- I open my mouth to protest, but he carries on - "I am only reminding you of your options: you can still turn back. You can live a happy life, protection can easily be arranged, I know that Mr Lupin in particular-"

"I have to do it," I cut across him, "I _have _to. I have to try and change what happened. He wasn't supposed to die, you know that! It's _my _fault. I can't… I can't _live _like this. Not with what I know - I just can't - I _won't_. Please Dumbledore, please - I'm capable, I wasn't changing my mind - I'm just-"

He holds up a wizened hand.

"Do not panic, I already know your commitment, I have never doubted it." He gives a small smile, "I'm just reminding you Iris," His use of my first name shocks me a little, "That it does not always have to be you. There are others who can help, you shouldn't take the blame. You always do."

I can't help the retort; it springs to my lips before I can repress it.

"_But it was meant to be me_…" The truth is little less than a whisper.

"And yet, you are here now." He gestures to me, "Alive and healthy, no more than a scratch on you body. If it was _meant _to be you, would you be here? What is meant to be, and what is not, is a frail, interchangeable thing. It can be warped as easily as wood, but can shatter as quickly as glass if not treated with care."

Again. Didn't understand that.

"Will I… will I not remember then?" I ask, trying to search answers in his eyes, "Will I just forget it all? So… there's a chance that… that I'll make all the mistakes I did the first time? There's a chance that nothing will change…" This last point is a statement, I can practically feel my hope fraying.

"Yes and no again. You _will _forget, but come time, I believe, you will remember. Although there are some things in time, that are fixed, and that we shall never be able to change." My forehead crumples at the lack of certainty in his tone. It's almost like he _expects _me to fail. "You will be dappling with the unknown, from beyond this point, I cannot even guide you. We leave much to the inscrutability of chance, for your life to play out as it has done - with slight alterations. But no, I think that you will not make the same mistakes. I believe that eventually, you will know all you need to, only the time is unsure. Though I am only guessing-" _If he talks any more; he'll convince me out of it. _My mind whispers urgently, I cut across him.

"That's good enough for me. Your guesses seem to be more sure than people's answers." Dumbledore chuckles lightly, and stands up, gesturing for me to do the same.

_It's happening. I'll be eleven again. Crap. I _hated _not knowing everything… and now it's going to happen all over again… oh God, oh God…He's going to do it. I'm going to be eleven. I can change it. I _will _change it._

I _have _to.

Dumbledore's talking again, I focus on his words, "Your subconscious will know what time you truly belong in. and so, without realising it, some of your actions - though still full of childish intent - may change to suit how your older self would act. You are sixteen now, and although most of you knowledge will be forgotten, the way you think will not change. Situations will run differently. And I believe," His eyes seem to twinkle slightly as he says this next bit, "That you will be more mature than you once were. Now, that can't hurt." I smile weakly - he's referring to my rash side, of course - it was let slip slightly the year before. "Please stand here," I move to my left, and Dumbledore raises his wand, before the sadness flashes like a knife across his expression again.

"Miss Fall," Dumbledore sighed lowering his wand a bit, and then looked out of the window, seeing the mist hanging low in the air. His voice was softer when he next spoke, a wise, almost rueful edge to it: "Please remember something for me…" I look at him, ready to prove all I need to set this right.

"Anything," I vow. He nods lightly, and raises his wand again. I close my eyes - concentrating with everything I have on the station. On the barrier. Of being nervous, excited and scared all at the same time. Concentrating on exactly how I felt before it happened. Faintly - I can here Dumbledore's voice, it's like an echo; reverberating in my head, wise words forever imprinted there.

"_Time is a restless, cruel thing. It plays tricks on you, deceives you, and once meddled with, leaves you in a far more confused state than you were before._"

And they are the last words I hear before it happens.

***

**(A/N: **Hmmm…curioiser and curiouser. Weren't expecting _that _were you? I suppose, in some ways this should have been the _prologue_. But it's not, because otherwise we wouldn't have had the crucial bit at the beginning (the one you were all meant to be thick and not look too much into) but here you can speculate away! *Cue the sarcastic cheering :p*

Ah, I do love writing Dumbledore. Lovely chap, isn't he? But I'm determined not to babble on pointlessly here; so I'll give out some useful *you're sceptical about that, aren't you?* information. So, for all you confused lot (the majority, probably) I'll give you a quick run down of what just happened:

-Iris is 16 here. (Heh - confused yet? :p) next chapter she'll be 11 again.

-She won't remember her purpose (just like dear Dumby just explained.)

-She'll be more mature than most, mentally. But won't realise it. This includes her articulation in both thoughts and speech. (It's my own error that she seems too articulate in the first chapter. Originally, she went back in time to the event of the car journey - thus explaining her maturity of thoughts. But I changed it, it seemed more prudent for the spell to work only where the borders between magic and normalcy are temporarily weakened - namely, the ticket barrier. ;p Sorry for the mistake!)

-The majority of the story will be based around her present (at first when she's 11 and then as she ages through the years etc) but as the story continues, more and more elements of this chapter will make sense. But that's a long way to go. Don't fret over it. You'll get a headache, and I don't want that :p

-And don't worry. Next chapter? She'll be just confused as you all are right now. :p

I won't give a sneaky peaky, because, alas, I made a mistake (as previously mentioned) and the sneak peek from last chapter is effectively the same sneak peek for this one. And I didn't want to repeat it because... well, that'd just be silly. If you're still confused, or have any questions, or criticism... (Like my awful Latin. I _think _the title of the book is right, but sadly I've had to resort to a Latin translator, which may or may not have LIED in giving me a correct translation. So, on the off-chance that any of you do read Latin. Don't kill me! Kill the translator.) Or demands to update, or - God forbid - any _praise _- do review! ;) It'll make my day. Honestly, it'll take a few mere seconds - that is, unless you write my favourite sort of review. A _long _one :p**)**

Lily - who really does urge you to **REVIEW **- it only takes a few seconds. It doesn't hurt - promise. She suggests that if a substantial amount of reviews are given for this chapter, that she will update on Friday. Hear that? _Friday_. That's barely any time. You want an update - don't you? She's also pondering the thought of longer chapters... hmmm... she suggests you put your opinion of them in a review. She wonders if repeating the word review will somehow latch it onto your subconscious. Somehow, she doubts this.


	4. Chapter 3: Arrogance and Ignorance

**Disclaimer: **_Harry Potter _was not created by me. It should have been, but, alas - it wasn't. I own nothing. Not the characters, not the world. _Nothing_. I don't even own the mushroom flavoured Berti Bott's Every Flavour Bean mentioned in this chapter. That's sad news people. Sad, sad news. After reading this disclaimer, you will no doubt be aware that no - I'm not JK, hence the writing fanfiction instead of world-selling books.

You'll also probably be depressed by the end of this disclaimer, no doubt because you feel sorry I don't own that mushroom bean. If so, mourning is advised. That or therapy.

**(A/N: **I'm sorry. I really am. I _tried _to update Friday, I really did… and this chapter was all finished and fine and dandy and then...Well, then blasted fanfiction decided to just... _stop working_. And not let me update. *Fumes* So since Friday, I've been cross. Very, very cross. The message basically told me there was something wrong with my file, only there _wasn't _anything wrong with my file. That's right people. Fanfiction **LIES**. It _lies _I tell you! I'll even give a quote as evidence:

**"**_Processing error:_

_We are unfortunately unable to convert your document. This could be due to an internal error or a problem with your file. Please try again_.**"**

(And trust me: I tried again _a lot_...)

Anyway, it's fixed now, so I should probably stop ranting. Thank you fanfiction staff who fixed the problem, 'tis greatly appreciated. What I was _going_ to say on Friday was this: 'here's the next chapter!_On time_, as promised. (Shocking eh?) You'll be pleased to hear that this is a marginally small babble/A/N (well, at least _for me_ anyway) since I'm in a rush.' - Only, it's not quite on time - it's late, and I'm no longer in a rush… and, well, the babble… yeah. Not quite so short anymore. Also substantially more rant-like too :S

I only ('_only'_... don't I sound ungrateful?) received 9 reviews for the last chapter… was it that bad? :S To those who did review here's an almighty THANK YOU! ;) We're now at **41**. 41 lovely reviews. Special thanks to the reviewers: _Jade Lyssy Swan_; _Shingie_; and _Squid700_(who I can't reply to - despite how good your reviews are. You've blocked all Private Messages. How am I supposed to thank, and babble, and return the throwing of pencils to you?! :p) But yes. Special thanks to them because they gave very fantbulous long reviews :) Do you think we could get to… 50 before the next chapter? Technically, I can update as soon as I want seeing as I already have the next chapter written. So there's motivation for you. Review = Updates. How about I update the second it reaches 50? Sound good? Though even if I don't get ANY reviews (heh -which is probably likely with all this semi-nagging :p) I'll always update every week, bar one day or so if fanfiction decides to torture me.

Which, being the sadistic system it is, it probably will.

Oh! And a few of you were confused by last chapter. (Not that I blame you. Expected as much ;p)

**If you're confused read this: **

- So, Iris was 16 last chapter, talking with Dumbledore, in his office. She went back in time to when she was eleven because of a point in her future - if you're considering her as eleven - or past - if you're considering her 16 - that may or may not be fixed. Effectively, she travelled back in time to change an event… and hopes that by going back so far - to the first time she went to Hogwarts, where this story starts - will radically change the outcome in the future. So she travelled _back _in time to relive her life and has - to find lack of a better word - a _mission _to change a few things. The very first prologue is something different all together. That will link in to the end of the story - and I'll say no more, because in the end - I'm just going to end up telling you the entire plot.

Cleared things up? A bit?

(Ah heck…I've made things _worse_, haven't I? :p)

Don't worry about it. Things will make sense later on. Meanwhile, in this chapter we're going to see a bit more of James and Sirius. Please remember that although Iris is mentally 16, both James and Sirius are only 11. That's their excuse for immaturity. Mind you, I don't think they _mature _that much through the years, at least, not in some ways…

And on that note - I'll let you read lest this babble becomes bigger than the chapter ;p

**Betwixt and Between.**

_By: Lily Swan_

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

His voice was softer when he next spoke, a wise, almost rueful edge to it: "Please remember something for me…" I look at him, ready to prove all I need to set this right.

"Anything," I vow. He nods lightly, and raises his wand again. I close my eyes - concentrating with everything I have on the station. On the barrier. Of being nervous, excited and scared all at the same time. Concentrating on exactly how I felt before it happened. Faintly - I can here Dumbledore's voice, it's like an echo; reverberating in my head, wise words forever imprinted there.

"_Time is a restless, cruel thing. It plays tricks on you, deceives you, and once meddled with, leaves you in a far more confused state than you were before._"

And they are the last words I hear before it happens.

***

Chapter 2:

**Arrogance and Ignorance**

There's a brilliant flare of white as I hit the barrier, and instinctively - I can't say quite how - I know something is wrong.

_I feel like I'm suddenly plunged into water for a second, before resurfacing and hurled back to the ground. The air suddenly seems to have frozen; goose bumps prickle along my skin. There's a silence. A terrible one. The sort that presses against your eardrums - and it's still. So _still_. Nothing is moving. Nothing exists._

_And the scene before me certainly isn't a train station. _

_Suddenly, I hear a yell, and there _is _someone - someone who's crashing through a door, sprinting - yelling-_

_And it's now that I notice the other person. A cloaked figure. Red, gleaming eyes, white finger tips curling around a rising wand-_

_There's a flash of green light-_

_And then-_

And then I'm staring at a red train. A great, imposing red steam engine with letters emblazoned on the front of it: _The Hogwarts Express_. Hundreds of people are surrounding me; there are the sounds of animated chatting, mewling cats, the hooting of owls, and the hiss of the engine. No one seems perturbed, everyone seems normal.

But my breathing is still laboured, heart still pounding.

_It was nothing. Just a trick of the light, or shock or something. Nothing. _

I've become suddenly very jumpy. I can't pinpoint exactly what, but something in me keeps making me swivel around, sure that I saw someone behind me in the corner of my eye. I walk forward in a daze, clumsily tripping over my trunk and getting out of the way of the barrier. Families around me are crying and embracing, often at the same time. But I don't look at anyone, just walk forward - waiting to board the train, ignoring a dull throb in my head.

I push whatever happened to the back of the mind, along with a strange, unwelcome feeling - something that twists in the deepest depths of my subconscious, too shrouded in shadow to make sense of.

The feeling that I've forgotten something.

***

I'm sitting across from two boys. The only compartment free, and it's got the boy from the station in it. The one with longish-black hair and high cheekbones. He doesn't seem to recognise me, in fact - he barely looks at me, just stares bitterly out of the window.

The other boy looks inquisitive. Slight, medium height, with black hair and hazel eyes behind his glasses. He's already told me who he is: "_James Potter, son of Richard Potter, and a brilliant young wizard in the making!" _In fact, he's managed to tell me his name three times already, _and _his parents' names, _and _his grandparents', _and _his cousins'…

Yeah, he hasn't stopped talking since I half fell into the compartment.

"So you're muggleborn." James asks. Well. He hardly _asks_; it's not even a question, more of a statement; he nods his head assuredly before I even think to reply.

I can only stare at him, struggling to not look confused_. Muggleborn._ My mind flits back to the small wizard again. "_Now don't worry, plenty of students at Hogwarts are from muggle families, my, even some _professors _are muggleborns.._._think of that? You could join the growing number young lady_."

"Er, yeah. I'm…" _do I say muggleborn then? _"Well, my parents aren't, um, magical." Great. I sound like an idiot. I wouldn't be surprised if he stood up and left. _Way to go, you're officially the most inarticulate person on the train… _

But the boy just nods.

"Cool. We had another girl in earlier, but she left with that Snivellus..."

It sounds like he's talking to himself more than me. I don't bother to ask what an earth a _snivellus _is. I cross my ankles; attempting to concentrate on the conversation again and pushing back my fear that I won't understand the magical terms.

"She looked like a muggleborn too, come to think of it, pretty one though," I don't take this comment to heart; I've accepted that I'm not pretty. Something must have shown in my face, for the boy hastens to add, "not that you're not, well, pretty either. Anyway." He brushes off from this awkward subject, I notice the other boys lips twitch slightly - like he's repressing a smile.

There's a silence for a second, and then he suddenly blurts out:

"Do you ride on those metal-carts then?" I stare blankly at him.

_Carts_?

"Um…well, only once. I'm - I'm not really allowed out that much. But I went on one when I was about eight… I think we had to see my aunt in Kent or something, she likes horses. But it was all old-fashioned, just wood." I'm babbling quickly, tripping over the words.

The boy looks puzzled.

"Never seen them with _horses_… How did you get here then? Didn't you go on the small metal carts? I saw loads outside."

What on earth is he talking about? The boy next to him laughs abruptly. I bet he's laughing at me. I look at him, and am torn between scowling and blushing - the result is a twisted look, more of a flustered grimace. He smirks at me.

He leans over and stage whispers:

"He means _cars_."

"Yeah - that's it. Cars." James grins, "Do you ride in a… _car_? And do you kill people with those chunky metal wands that are banana shaped? You know… do you use nuns?" James is staring at me, honest curiosity plain across his features. Sirius beside him looks mildly amused.

"Again, he means _guns_." James nods at his correction. "Nuns are the penguin-looking women, mate." James seems further confused by this, but looks off thoughtfully into the distance with an air of uttermost understanding anyway.

"Yes, forgot that minor fact - but the question remains: do you, girl who I happen to have just met, ever use a gun?" I blink, and stare at him blankly. Because really, what are you meant to say to that?

Do I use a _gun_?

"What? No! Of course I don't - I've never even touched one!"

Sirius snorts.

"Typical."

I look at him, unsure whether to be offended by his tone.

"What's typical?"

"You." He supplies simply - and his tone is so superior, so _condescending_, that I feel my expression turn ugly, a retort springing to my lips before I can help it.

"Just because I've never touched a gun? What? That makes me pathetic, does it? That's a stupid assumption to make. Though I probably shouldn't have expected more from someone like you" - I have no idea where this venom is coming from, but oddly, I don't feel regretful of it -"Look, I'm not a mass-murderer, nor am I a psychopathic killer, and I'm not even much of a pyromaniac. Sorry to disappoint." My voice is haughty, and I turn to look out the window at the speeding countryside, intending not to speak to the other boy for the rest of the journey.

I can see their faces in the reflection of the window.

And Sirius looks delighted at my outburst.

"Ah, shame about the pyromania - to think, we could have shared a common interest." He smiles impishly. "No, I meant it's typical that a person like _you _- all prim and neat and, more importantly - _a girl_, looks horrified at the mention of a weapon that's utterly useless when there's magic in the world." Sirius says smoothly, James starts to laugh.

"Oh, because I bet _you've _disarmed thousands of people using that stick of yours," I shoot back sarcastically.

_Well, so much for not speaking to him..._

Sirius grins.

"Glad to hear my reputation's intact." James - who had only just recovered from one bout of chuckling, merely doubles up again. Sirius is proving to be a bad influence. A very bad influence.

"You're coming across as exceedingly arrogant you know." I say shortly, the words flying out from my mouth without my permission. I feel surprised at how angry I'm getting with him.

"Arrogant, or charming?" Sirius muses, cocking one eyebrow again.

Irrationally, that annoys me.

"Arrogant." I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him. "Definitely arrogant."

He pauses for a second, and I feel a brief shoot of vindictive satisfaction. Like I've one some battle of wordplay, but my happy bubble pops with his next words:

"Well, arrogance sounds better to me than ignorance."

I don't reply to him, just turn and stare out of the window. Hating the fact that he's probably right. My stomach is twisting painfully; the word has struck me hard. _Ignorant_. I am, I'm the ruddy epitome of the word.

As the trees merge to a blur of green and brown outside, I sigh inaudibly, unable to hear Sirius and James' conversation. The truth festers in my chest, making my already cramp stomach knot; _I know nothing about this world…_

And I have no idea how I'll ever fit in.

_***_

Sirius had left the compartment.

_Yeah, hallelujah._

Before he'd gone, a plump, dimpled woman with flyaway hair had just come in, brandishing a tray laden with an assortment of delicious-looking sweets and food. James had bought nearly half of the things on there. Despite myself, I couldn't help feeling a tug of longing when I saw the assortment of sweets, cakes and pasties pilled high on the trolley. Sirius hadn't brought anything, ducking down to open his black trunk and rifle around for a money bag. The lady had left before he'd found it.

"Hey - _hey lady_! Wait! I want some sweets!" James laughs at the sound of his shouts down the train.

"Want a frog?" He asks, offering one to me. I blink, surprised and shocked.

I have no idea how to reply.

The wrapped up frog's still extended towards me. I'm assuming it's edible. And hopefully not actually _a frog… _"Go on," James urges, "Take it - you look like you could do with some chocolate in you." _Ah. Chocolate apparently_…

Chocolate and frog. What a combination.

Before I can protest, he places the chocolate in my hands, biting off a Liquorice Wand at the same time.

"Thanks." I whisper gratefully, unwrapping the frog and then jumping about a foot.

"It's _alive_! James! It's alive! _Do _something!"

James just grins at me.

"It's not alive, silly. Just has a spell on it that makes it jump and stuff. Honestly, you looked scared to death!" His hazel eyes are wide and excited - I've never met someone to look at me so warmly, aside from my mum… before everything else happened. I shake off the thought, looking back to James who seems to be studying me, his eyes quickly analysing my face and clothes.

And suddenly it hits me - here, right before me, is someone who won't call me a freak because I can do magic. Someone who won't bully me because I'm different. Someone who actually shares things. Someone who _cares_.

This realisation is so abrupt, so unexpected, I'm left completely shocked.

James starts to look a little worried.

"Haven't you ever had a Chocolate Frog before?" He asks quietly - like the knowledge is so shocking he can't quite believe it. I shake my head, sitting back down, and watching the frog hop about the seat warily (I'm not so hungry anymore.) James slaps his forehead suddenly, and corrects himself before I reply, "Oh, you're a muggleborn, forgot - sorry. I don't know, I keep forgetting. You look like pureblood witch to me."

He smiles encouragingly, and I realise, for perhaps the first time in my life, I'm being paid a compliment.

"I …do?" I ask hesitantly. "I look like a witch? How?"

"Well," James says, his voice slightly muffled as he continues to chew the Liquorice Wand. "You just look all powerful sometimes - like when you spoke to Sirius like that. Did you read the textbooks or something?" I nod (I'd read most of the textbooks assigned. I hadn't finished them, but I'd read to about the fifth chapter in each. I hadn't tried practicing the spells with my father present - but I'd been delighted reading the books, not daring to believe that the knowledge they contained could actually be _real_.)

"Well, I'm not a pureblood; that can't change… and I don't know anything about the subjects really - 'cept what was included in the first few chapters or so…" I trail off, feeling silly that I was letting him know the exact extent of my ignorance.

"Do you want me to tell you about them?" James asks, enthusiasm in his voice, I nod eagerly, adjusting so that my legs were crossed underneath me on the train seat. James leans over and passes me a small box out of his mound of sweets. "Here - Berti Bott's Every Flavour beans. They're harmless, you'll like 'em - just… well, just be careful with the yellowy-brown looking ones. I had a vomit flavoured one once." He screws up his face at the memory, and I eat a small blue-looking one slowly.

It's delicious. Blueberry, by the taste of it.

Almost instinctively, I smile at James; it's the first time I've smiled properly in years. Even now - it's a small, timid smile, hesitant and cautious - and I'm terrified he won't return it.

But he does. A big, toothy grin - much larger than I'd anticipated.

"Well, let's get started. First off, there are all the houses - you know about them right?"

"Um… nope."

James gapes at me.

"Merlin! You don't know _anything_!" I feel my self flush in embarrassment, James notices; he scrabbles to redeem himself, "Sorry - didn't mean anything by it. It's okay - I'll tell you. Right, firstly, there's Ravenclaw. They're okay I 'spose, all the smart people go there. But Gryffindor's got smart people too! That's where I'm hoping to go anyway. They're the best, bravest house. You've got to have _courage_, and _chivalry _and-"

"And the other houses?" I interrupt quietly, amused at his fervent love of the house.

"Well, they're not so good. Slytherin's where all the bad people go. Sirius-" I can't help the slight frown at his name -"said his _whole family _came from there. Unlucky eh? You probably won't end up there - they hate muggleborns. But Sirius thinks he'll break the tradition anyway." James grins at the thought, and despite the fact I don't like Sirius, I can already see he and James fit perfectly together. In fact, the similarities in personality are so similar; I half have to repress a groan. I'm just about to ask another question, before James makes a large choking noise. I look at him in alarm in time to see him spitting a small grey bean into his hands, disgust twisting his face. He throws it into a bin in the corner with surprising dexterity, saying only: "_Mushroom_," as means of an explanation. I blink stupidly, and then shake my head, getting back to the conversation before:

"So that's it then? Ravenclaw; Gryffindor, and Slytherin?"

_Oh heck, how am I going to remember all these? _

"Oh no - there's Hufflepuff too, but everyone says they're a loads of duffers."

Huh. Duffers. Appropriate.

"Hufflefluff it is then."

James frowns a bit and opens his mouth to say something, but I cut across him before he can, "But the subjects… how many subjects are there?"

"There are _loads _of them…" I listen to James chatter on with ardent interest, fascinated by his talk of magic, the mention of spells. He knew _a lot_. But I push back my insecurity, focusing hard on what he says, often close to smiling at the way he uses his hands, how expressive he is. Some time later Sirius comes back in; I choose to ignore him. James nods in acknowledgment of his presence, and continues to babble happily on to me.

Potions; here I thought, was something I would at least not fail completely at. Methodical steps and instructions, ingredients and equipment, and small amount of intuition. I had been taught to cook from a young age, and Chemistry had been drilled into me ever since my father had been determined I too, would follow a career in medicine. But even as this small glimmer of hope swells in my chest it's squashed, and I feel sick all over again.

Potions was one thing, but the _other _classes? Charms? I had no idea what that would entail; Defence Against the Dark Arts already sounded difficult, and the nagging suspicion that the 'Dark Arts' could mean nothing good made me wary of it (I had never been able to defend myself well.) Transfiguration sounded impossible, Herbology - well I guessed that was to with herbs, and I'd never gardened in my life. Astronomy was something I'd never thought about before; I didn't like the dark, it was too claustrophobic. _History of Magic _would only prove how little I knew about the magical world. Divination (spoken with a slightly sceptical air from the boy) I knew to be to do with predictions and clairvoyance. Something, incidentally, I was sure I would be awful at.

Arithmancy, I held my breath a little at this, if it was as it the title implied - it would be to do with Maths. Maths, I could deal with easily enough. So there. Potions and Arithmancy. The only two classes that I would pass.

And _that _was assuming that they were as simple as Chemistry and Maths, which I was sure they wouldn't be.

My worried thoughts must have shown on face because James suddenly stops babbling.

"What's wrong? You look terrified! Look - I promise the staircases aren't _that _bad. Dad just said they move around a bit… apparently he and mum had been prefects together and that's when they first bumped into each other-" He makes a disgusted noise at the thought of his parents in their younger days. "But I don't think they're scary or anything. I think they're kind of cool."

The dark haired boy snorts from the corner. And raises his eyes from the paper, speaking darkly.

"Yeah, well so did Barnaby Barashmere, he was only an 'ickle first year, he thought they were really _cool _- until he fell off one, dropped from about eighty feet, and crumpled into a bloody mass dead on the floor-" James starts to laugh again.

"How'd he manage that?" James grins, still laughing.

"Couple of Slytherins pushed him apparently. He was a muggleborn Slytherin, and you know how pure blooded the lot are. If you're a muggleborn and you're sorted into Slytherin, well you're done for." I feel unsteady, despite the fact I'm sitting down; I know I've turned paler. Sirius doesn't show any sign of noticing. "They cornered him and pushed him over the edge - apparently when he was found he was still oozing out blood-"

"Shut up!" I've thrown my hands over my ears, and I feel sick; I know I'm making a fool of myself, but I can't stop. Sirius looks up from his cynical muttering, no longer amused. I stand up shakily to my feet. I want to leave. I don't like him. He's sick.

"Aw c'mon, I was only joking-"

I've stood up too quickly; I get a head-rush. Crap. I'm going to faint.

"Well I don't think it's funny." I say quietly, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. I stumble to the compartment door, grab my trunk, and with a great heave manage to shove it out of the compartment. James makes a move to stop me.

"Hey, don't worry - it was just a joke, wait - oh Merlin!" He frowns, and whispers to Sirius, "What's her name again?"

"How should I know?" Mutters Sirius, turning to stare obstinately out of the window.

I shut the compartment door with a bit of effort, and look around the corridor of the train. My hear sinks. _Everywhere _is full now. Two people walk towards me, and childishly, I want to run away from them. Instead though, I pretend to tie up my shoelace, wishing I could let my hair cover my face. Instead, I angle myself away from them as they approach.

"Oh come on Sev, we can't lurk about here - let's just get a compartment." I reposition myself slightly to see a pretty, red-haired girl talking to a boy with greasy black hair. Her eyes look slightly bloodshot, and I can see telltale traces of moisture on her porcelain cheeks. Her voice is very quiet, but there's a frustrated, tired edge to it.

"But they're full of _people_." The sallow boy looks disgusted at the thought.

"Yes. And we're people too - now come on, we're going in the next one with any space. Look - here." She cut across and opened the door to the compartment I'd just left. The boy with greasy hair scowls at her, crossing his skinny arms over his chest.

"-I'm not going in _there_-"

"Why not?" Says the girl, frustration tinting her cheeks pink. She looks close to tears again. "There's nowhere else, Sev, I'm fed up of traipsing up and down-"

"We can't go back in there! _They're _in there… can't you remember the gits earlier? Or are you developing amnesia?"

"Oh that's _rich_." She hisses at him, looking more angry than upset. "Amnesia? _I _was the one who had to remind you to collect your trunk - you nearly got on the train without it!" He doesn't seem to be listening to her, dark eyes narrowed and glaring at the back of James' head through the frosted glass.

"I still stay I'm not going in there."

"Fine!" The girl snaps, sniffing slightly "carry on _lurking _then,"

And with that, she slams the compartment door in the boy's face.

He stands there, looking at quite a loss for a few seconds, before striding down the train, kicking my trunk slightly on the way past and pulling out his potions book from a tatty looking trunk he trails behind him.

I sink slowly to the floor again; smiling stupidly to myself.

It was like I had a gift. If I wanted to, I could become completely invisible.

I stay still, quiet, and plain in the background.

And no-one ever looks at me twice.

***

**(A/N: **Hoped you liked that insight onto the train journey. ;) (and I meant to say 'Hufflefluff' at one point - don't worry) I'm sorry if everything seems a bit… _boring _at the moment. I promise it won't stay this way - things will gradually get more and more intense (and, more specifically _exciting_) as the chapters continue. It's light-hearted this far in... yeah, that might change... I'm not entirely sure how long to make Iris' first year, personally, because the main action and plot developments will happen in later years. So… that's up for suggestion! (Again, cue the _enthusiastic _cheers :p)

I'd be _thrilled _if you could give your view in a review - look at that, I even rhymed. That's got to be a reason to review. I'm obviously a poet. With talent, naturally. Oh, and I almost forgot! A sneak peek for you all!**)**

**The Very Exclusive and Elusive **(I'm just full of rhymes today, eh?) **Sneaky Peaky:**

"Ah," Nott sights, grinning with the same sardonic edge as the blonde boy. "Much better. We can see your pretty little face now…" He steps closer to me.

Acting on caprice, I step backwards, and I know instantly it's a mistake.

I've just showed them that I'm afraid. The blonde boy leers at me, and he leans close so that I can barely move. His breath tickles, chilling against my ear as he whispers against it.

"All alone, little mudblood?"

***

C'mon - you should all be DYING with curiosity as to what happens next. Hear me? _Dying_. I suggest you **review** - 'tis the only cure to such a fatal disease. In short: If you don't review - sad though it is for me to give this news - you will probably die…

I think you know what to do :p

Lily - who apologises, as she seems to be giving things none-too-similar to death threats. She isn't actually planning on killing you. Honest. Well, not _all of you anyway… :p_


	5. Chapter 4: Nerves of Fragile Glass

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Didn't magically transform into JK over the course of a week. (I'll develop the skill one day, sure. Just not quite yet.) Neither did I find a way to convince JK to hand over the ownership of_ Harry Potter_. She's terribly stuborn, that author. So, sadly, this means that all _Harry Potter _related characters and places do _not _belong to me and I'm not gaining anything other than self-amusement from writing this.

Honestly. Life's filled with disappointment these days.

**(A/N: **Hello all! I'm sticking to my 1 week update very well, huh? This is even a day _early_. This chapter concludes the train journey to Hogwarts, I would have merged them into one... But this keeps in nicely with the word count. (incidentally, do you like the current word count per chapter? Longer, shorter? I need _answers_! :p)

I've drafted Iris' first year to last around … 4 more chapters, give or take a few- and then it's going to skip a few years so we can get some ACTION :D And a bit of drama can't hurt either, I suppose :p

I _know _(oh yeah - I've got sources… ;p) that this is on quite a few story alert lists…so those who don't review…you're just being quiet. Huh? Seriously - I won't bite/hit/scratch or attack in any form if you review. Promise. There will even be minimal babbling replies if requested. I'm quite nice behind the -albeit-_slightly_-psychotic - exterior. Trust me :p

However, I want to give a humungous thank you to those who _did _review last chapter, (look - look WE REACHED **50**!) you're all the reason why this chapter's a day early ;) So once again thanks to the ever so loyal reviewers: Jade Lyssy Swan; Trickster at Heart; Tangled Silken Traces; Squid 7000; ObsessedWithaCertainMoony; fg; Sirius'sGirlForEver; PureSilverLining; and Ylena Nair - you're all BRILLIANT! (And hey - you all have awesome names too! :o)

Oh, a little side note: don't you think Lucius Malfoy is _creepy_? Eh? EH? … if you don't - well, this chapter might change you mind… quite why I always end up writing creepy stuff continues to baffle me. It must inwardly reflect what I'm truly like. What a pleasant thought, I'm secretly a psychopath.**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan _

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

And with that, she slams the compartment door in the boy's face.

He stands there, looking at quite a loss for a few seconds, before striding down the train, kicking my trunk slightly on the way past and pulling out his potions book from a tatty looking trunk he trails behind him.

I sink slowly to the floor again; smiling stupidly to myself.

It was like I had a gift. If I wanted to, I could become completely invisible.

I stay still, quiet, and plain in the background.

And no-one ever looks at me twice.

***

Chapter 4:

**Nerves of Fragile Glass**

I notice the little things. The small details. It's nothing special. I'm no beauty, no heroine - I just notice things. The things that lie forgotten and unnoticed.

And no, I don't just mean the things that you see. Like how there's a small fissure in the window; or how the carpet is uneven and faded in places; or the way someone fidgets when they receive attention. I mean the deeper things. The ones that lie beneath the surface.

Why do I notice the forgotten things? Because I'm one myself.

I stare out the window, wondering what time we're supposed to arrive. Hours must have passed by now, the sky outside is darker; misty grey clouds line the bleak horizon. I see a pair of cobalt eyes reflected back at me, shiver, then turn away. I can't help it. I think back to the station. To my father. To how angry he looked…fear and guilt twist at my insides.

"Why are you in our compartment?" Sneers a voice, shattering my thoughts so that they become little more than strings of distorted murmurs. Irrationally, I start to feel panicked.

The panic is obvious. I jerk in shock, turning around so quickly I knock my trunk to the floor. Cold laughter emits from the doorway, and my eyes fall upon a boy - his sharp pointed face twisted in a sneer. Platinum blonde hair smooth across his scalp, chin length and pristinely styled. He quirks an eyebrow at me when he notices my stare, and I straighten myself, smoothing down the hem of my shirt nervously to avoid eye contact again.

_This can't be good…_

"I-I-" I'm stuttering. He's still smirking at me, and I can't think of what to say. I've had experiences with bullies. (Don't ask how I know he's a bully; I just do.) I don't want this. There's already a pattern of bruises across my back from when I went back to my old primary school. They haven't healed yet. Past the purple-bluish stage, now yellow and brown. Marring my otherwise pale skin.

I hated that school. Everyone had grown since early childhood, most of them thrilled at being at the top of the hierarchy in primary school. When I'd returned, people had forgotten me - I'd switched schools about six times. But a few individuals had remembered. Alex Cornwell and his gang being one of them. The memory from before the summer drifted to the forefront of my mind.

"_Come on little girl, show us your _powers_…" I stared back at him, unflinching; I wasn't going to be weak. He didn't know anything. I wouldn't do anything for him. Not this time. Not again. His hand shot out and grabbed my forearm, clasping around it with his fist, twisting it painfully. I let out a yelp. "I _said_: show us your little tricks, girl!" I was shoved roughly into a wall, the coarse bricks rubbing against my back. Alex's cronies loomed in the background, all egging him on._

I am brought sharply out of my memory by the boy again; he's calling his friends into this compartment. My palms feel cold. I start to feel trapped.

The one behind him is massive, thickset arms, dark hair and eyes, his face utterly unreadable, features impassive. But it's not just him, others file in the hallway outside - their faces unclear through the translucent glass. There are about five now, and there's only one of me. A mocking voice in my head analyses the situation with a clarity I can't deny.

_You're stuck._

I stare at them; they're older than me, though some are starting in their first year, yet they're still tall. I've never been particularly big, but I look downright tiny in comparison. Scrawny and frail. Still, at least they're still quite young…

Apart from the ones at the front of the group. They look older.

I just turned 11 in August - yet the blonde boy already looks in his mid teens - as do his friends. Tall, and intimidating in their robes. I haven't changed yet, and suddenly my jumper feels like it's constricting me. Like my very clothes are suffocating, but they aren't - if anything they're too _big _for me.

Still, the violet sweater suddenly makes me feel hot. My eyes dart around them - I'll go out if they want. I'll leave. I'll happily run down the train.

_Just let me disappear…_

A gleam of silver catches my eye, and my heart sinks. Pinned to the blonde boy's robes is a badge, 'P' encrypted on it. My mother's school had a prefect's system. Traditionally prefects were announced when someone turns 15.

So this blonde boy _is _older than me. A lot older.

That explains the superior smirk then.

"I've found something in our compartment, Nott." A thin boy, all pallor and darkness, walks up to the blonde boy's side. His eyes rake lazily over me, like the stroking paws of a cat - there's something unnerving about his stare, his eyes are shadowed, deep circles beneath them.

He advances towards me, the compartment light is dim - he withdraws something from his cloak.

My insides turn to ice. A wand. I have no idea how to use mine. I was given it by the small wizard when my parents refused to shop for supplies. A shower of green and blue sparks has erupted from it. Since then, I've not produced any magic at all.

Not that _that's _surprising. I'm probably not even a real witch.

_It was probably a fluke. Malfunction with the wand… I don't know anything. Those textbooks didn't make any sense… though they probably do to everyone else. Oh heck, I'm probably not even meant to be here. Why did I even get on the train? Who am I kidding? I can't do _magic_! _

I try to clear my head, think rationally - yet as more of the boys come in, surrounding me in a pincer like motion, a sick feeling plummets into my stomach. Now _everything _about me looks inferior. In fact, this thought leads me to a question: they can't get anything from me, for I have nothing to lose.

This provides little comfort; even my _wand _looks shabby in comparison to this boy's. I can't seem to hide my fear when I stare at his. It's sleek and black - ebony wood. It looks dangerous.

In my jumper pocket, my hand tightens around my willow wand. I have no idea how to use it. But somehow the hold of it is comforting. The small voice in my head gives the only assurance it can for such a predicament:

_You could always poke them with it in self defence…_

"Hello girly…" Says the dark haired boy - Nott, I think - he flashes his wand upwards, pointing to the light and saying: "_Lumos_," a weight falls sickeningly into the pit of my stomach.

_They already know magic… and you don't know anything. _

The light flickers for a bit, and then brightens considerably.

"Ah," Nott sights, grinning with the same sardonic edge as the blonde boy. "Much better. We can see your pretty little face now…" He steps closer to me.

Acting on caprice, I step backwards, and I know instantly it's a mistake.

I've just showed them that I'm afraid. The blonde boy leers at me, and he leans close so that I can barely move. His breath tickles, chilling against my ear as he whispers against it.

"All alone, little mudblood?"

I feel sick. _Mudblood_. I have no idea what this means, but his tone isn't complimentary.

"I'll just go-" I say quickly, trying to slip between the group, but there's a cold hand on my shoulder - stopping my escape.

"But we've barely _talked_…" The blonde boy drawls, flashing his teeth in a cruel smile. "How about we keep you company." I'm scared now. Actually scared. I've never had nerves of steel, it's more like I have nerves of fragile glass; ready to shatter at the slightest impact. His friends are guffawing. I know what will happen. And I don't want this. I don't want to be pushed around.

"And - and I don't want to talk to you." I say, trying to be firm - the small tremors in my hands starting up.

The smirk is wiped off the blonde boy's face. He glares at me.

"Well you're _going _to."

He pushes me backwards, and I fall against the seat.

"Avery; Nott; Carrow; Black; Crabbe, come in here. We've got our first lesson. There's filth in this compartment, now…what's that spell father mentioned? The one that cleans out _muck_?" They're all inside now. The compartment is full. Six large boys crowding around me. A brown haired boy, the smallest, and most spherical member of the group pipes up - his voice high pitched in his excitement.

"I think it's: '_Scourgify_!' Lucius, not quite sure how its cast though."

The blonde haired boy's eyes narrow, and in a split second, he turns and pins the brown haired boy to the wall. I gasp in shock, but no one else looks fazed.

"_Malfoy_, Crabbe, you call me Malfoy."

"Y-yeah, s-sorry, slip of the tongue, I f-forgets."

"You _forgot_, Crabbe. Forgot is the past of forget." But he's released him now, and is strolling back to me; Crabbe doesn't look mortified like I would have guessed, merely sheepish. Glad that his punishment was small. He shuffles to the back of the throng, a few of the others exchange malicious looks of glee as he passes them.

"Now," Malfoy's grinning at me again, "Where were we, little mudblood?"

Something in the way he calls me that, the sneer in his voice, his taunting tone, makes me snap. Before I know what I'm doing - I'm standing up, my hands aren't shaking anymore, and I glare at him - unafraid to let him see how much I hate him already.

_He's a prat._

I don't argue with this thought.

"I don't know about you," I say, disgusted, "but _I _was leaving."

I try to do just that, but his hand is on my shoulder again.

And that tiny, _infinitesimal _amount of contact, is enough to make me stop dead.

"Get off me." My voice is low and steady. The opposite of my pulse.

"It's unwise to speak to me like that, mudblood." Malfoy whispers darkly, trailing his hand down to my wrist, easily encircling it with his cold, vice-like fingers. "You ought to be more careful… I'm of one of the purest families there is-" The mention of his blood being _pure_, and mine being akin to mud suddenly makes me furious, and a wave of animosity hits me. I cut him off. Speaking through gritted teeth, white hot rage obscuring any other thoughts.

"Let. _Go_."

Suddenly, he relinquishes his grip like my skin burns him. His gaze flickers down to my wrist, like if he expects to see flames dancing there, but almost as quickly he flits back to look down into my eyes again. His quartz eyes are in shock, and for a heartbeat longer he stares at me, searching my eyes so intently, it's as if he's trying to read my thoughts. But I take my chance, darting past him, ready to escape - but not before I realise my stuff is still in the carriage. I stop abruptly. The knot twisting ever tighter in my stomach.

I turn slowly, and the surprise is completely gone from Malfoy's face, I think that I must have imagined it. The smirk is set in its place once more, and it suits him so well, I can't believe it ever left.

"_Forgot _something?"

He bends down to pick up my truck, and to my chagrin he does it with ease (I had struggled getting it on - the trolley lady had helped me pick hoist it up) there's a malevolent glint in his icy eyes now - and I half know what he's planning already.

I'm rigid, my jaw taut. I've never wanted to hurt someone as much as him.

"Give that back." My voice is breathless.

His friends are remarkably quiet behind him; he's the ringleader. With a jolt I notice one of them; the boy from the station. The one with shorter hair. I look at the others - searching for his brother, but he's not here.

Malfoy sees my stare; he turns to the boy, his lip curling.

"Ah, Regulus, where's Bellatrix? I missed her over the summer - well, I missed her _sister_." A few of boys chuckle at this. The boy shifts uncomfortably, I can tell he's one of the younger ones. But close up - I realise he's older than his brother at the station, a small amount of fine stubble is along his jaw line, fuzzy black hair like the soft down on a signet.

Regulus doesn't answer, and with everyone's eyes on their leader - I inch closer, planning to knock Malfoy's wand out of his hand.

"Yes," Malfoy's drawling again, but I can barely hear him now, "Father says I've got an ample selection before I come of age. They'll have to be pureblood, of course - to carry on the Malfoy line. Nothing like this mudblood filth, although rumour has it that they're… well, I won't say, the concept's rather disgusting frankly. Let's just say they're probably as _dirty _as the name implies…" Sniggers come up at this, but I'm no longer listening, trying not to make to much noise or look suspicious, "But considering all the purebloods in our year, they're really isn't much competition. The Lestranges have a strong pureblood line though, and they're… more _mature _than most, if you get my drift. That's why Narcissa seems such an adequate-"

I don't think about my actions. In a swift movement I'm back by his side, and stupidly, I try to jostle him, attempting to get his wand.

But he's faster than me.

He swirls around so fast it was like he'd expected me to do just that. His cold hand grips my other arm. There's a pause before he does anything, and again - the searching look in his eyes is back. They're wary. But a heartbeat later the look is gone and he twists it hard, like a Chinese burn. I yelp out in pain, my eyes watering. His voice is very low when he talks.

"Don't _ever _try something like that again…"

And then he does something that completely shocks me.

He kicks my trunk out towards me.

"Go on then." He says nonchalantly, but there's an underlying edge to his otherwise bored tone. And it's not something I trust. His friends seem frozen behind him, aside from the occasional glance to another, the covet grin. There's an almost palpable air of pleasure around them. Malfoy stares at me intently again, and I've noticed he's quickly let go of my arm. "Pick it up."

Dimly, I can here the strain screeching, it's slowing, I'm unsteady of my feet-

I fall into Nott. He flinches from me like I'm contaminated, and then shoves me back to Malfoy, who's no longer smiling; his mouth is set in a line. And this scares me more than his smirk.

"Pick. It. _Up_."

I do, bending down and heaving the trunk, to my relief I can lift it - just. But as I stand and drag it out, a searing pain shoots through me, and I stagger backwards. It's him. Malfoy has cast something on me, I look at my right arm, and there's a lattice white lines across it.

Lines that quickly start to ooze blood.

"Cutting hex," Malfoy says coolly, amusement flickering in his otherwise flat eyes. "I thought you needed a reminded of your place." I'm shaking. I feel like I'm going to punch him. It's such a violent thought - I'm scared. "One last thing," He murmurs, and I freeze when he slips closer.

He rips out the chrome pins, and I yell out in pain as hair is ripped form my scalp, my long brown hair falling loose, the pins clattering to the floor. He whispers his next words so quietly that I'm sure they're only for my ears. "Much better."

The other boys expressions are impassive - I can't read anything in them. Malfoy steps back, a satisfied edge to his expression, the smirk still set on his lips.

"You may go."

I grab my trunk, blinking back tears, and run from the compartment.

***

**(A/N: **I told you, didn't I? Creepy. That's what dear little Lucius is. _Creepy_.

Now, this is a relatively short **A/N**/babble since I'm soon to be forced to socialise with various members of my mother's work… *shudders* and no, it is _not _going to be a fun experience. It's going to be _hellish_. So much so that I'll probably get terribly ill from the anxiety of the whole ordeal and end up developing some terminal illness that'll no doubt render me to little more than a babbling lunatic. (And do _not _say that this will mean no change… *attempts to looking threatening*)

So yes: it'll be terribly tragic. I suggest you review, you know, to keep me in good health. ;) Notice the absence of death threats this time round; I'm obviously getting kinder in my old, wise age (of 15 :p).

**REVIEW**! :D

I'll be off now. I'm going to poison - I mean, _prepare _- the Greek salad… and the Potato salad… and the 'Nutty' salad (yes, that's what it's called. And yes. There are _3_ different salads. 30 people at said party-that-will-cause-my-demise. 1 per 10 people. Lovely.) with my… cooking… _skills_. Oh nelephants! I almost forgot, sneaky peaky time - *and hey - would you look at all that sibilance? That's a reason to review in itself!***)**

**Supremely Special Supensy (**and yes - it really _should_ be a word**) Super Sneaky Peaky:**

"Oh, I…" _I do wish he'd stop _staring _like that… _"I already ate."

"When?" _What's with the interrogation? _My voice is suddenly crisp, I can't help it. That same annoyance is brooding in me, I can feel it. It's him. He just… _evokes _it all.

"On the train."

He looks sceptical.

Yeah, he has the nerve to look _sceptical _about that.

***

Lily - who will surely die, and therefore won't be able to update _ever again,_ *gasp people - GASP!* unless some serious remedial reviews are thrown her way. She'll be dead within the next 24 hours. You don't want that on your conscience :p


	6. Chapter 5: 'Twixt Good and Evil

**Disclaimer:** I think we've established that _Harry Potter _and all it entails is not mine by now. Hence the reason I'm eating a pita bread sandwich instead of something like caviar. Not that I'd like caviar. Bleuch. _Fish eggs_. And not that I even think JK likes caviar, though she might do. So, just to confirm: I don't know Harry Potter, never have, never will - and yes, I am indeed eating a pita bread sandwich.

All clear now?

**(A/N: **… _Don't look at me like that!_ I'm sorry, okay? Really, I'm sorry. I suppose this chapter's length makes up for the delay (it's longer than normal). But I do I _know _this is a day late. I couldn't update yesterday, despite my claims, because I was whisked off on ever so important business. *Okay. No. It wasn't important. And no, it wasn't strictly _business_… meh…You get my point* … so yup. I fear I'm steadily earning back my title as: "Fanfiction's Very Worst Updator" again… bah!

Please don't hate me too much. I've updated now, see? And because I feel guilty now… I'll let you in on a secret. *whispers* I have the ability to update… _more than once _this week. Mhmm. So there's incentive to review - you'll get an extra chapter. Oooft! NEWS! I've found a brilliant phrase that fits me, I should have used it in my French Oral: "Je suis babillage." I suggest you go look it up. It's very truthful.

I was bowled over by the amount of reviews for last chapter! **64**! :D WOW! That's the most reviews for one chapter yet ;) A tremendous thanks to: Jade Lyssy Swan; Trickster at Heart; Shingie; Sinistra; Tangled Silken Traces; Squid 7000; ObsessedWithaCertainMoony; fg; Sirius'sGirlForEver; Spartans2300; I.; Joelle8; and Caitrionia Cullen. If I just forgot you, I'm sorry. It's old age I tell you - OLD AGE!

I _urge _anon reviewers to get an account! Really! You're _missing out_! Think of all the sneak peeks I could be giving everyone bar you? Goodness knows - they could be receiving supplies worth of blubbery and chocolate muffins, cookies, _nelephants _even - and you - you'd all be none the wiser!

This is a supremely short babble for me, since I must dash. (*Grins.* You're right, Jade. It _does _sound like _Pride and Prejudice_) I'm off swimming actually. But please do review - remember I have the ability to update multiple times this week. ;)

Oh, one last thing: I'm not a poet. Never have been. That's my excuse for the… _thing _that the hat does. Don't suffer from it too much. :p**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan_

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

"One last thing," He murmurs, and I freeze when he slips closer.

He rips out the chrome pins, and I yell out in pain as hair is ripped form my scalp, my long brown hair falling loose, the pins clattering to the floor. He whispers his next words so quietly that I'm sure they're only for my ears. "Much better."

The other boys expressions are impassive - I can't read anything in them. Malfoy steps back, a satisfied edge to his expression, the smirk still set on his lips.

"You may go."

I grab my trunk, blinking back tears, and run from the compartment.

***

Chapter 5:

**'Twixt Good and Evil.**

If there's one thing I really hate, it is standing still, in line, squished up to lots of other people.

And currently, I'm in a queue.

_Great_.

I'm very rigid - taut even, like a wire - hands pinned down by my sides, straight as a stick. Everyone is whispering excitedly aside from me. Their eyes are bright and eager; hands flittering excitedly like restless butterflies; feet shuffling, unable to stay still. I'm not like any of them. Unless they're nervous too. But it's worse than that - I'm not nervous in the normal, keyed up sort of way, I'm _anxious_. No, actually that's an understatement: I'm terrified.

_Even better. _

A scary, formidable looking woman, (_witch, Iris, you've got to think of people as witches and wizards!_) is holding a scroll of parchment. Her skin is chalk white, and her hair's pulled so furiously back into a bun - looks as if it'll never undo, and never has been, _undone_. I'm not going to lie. She scares me a bit.

She's told us she's called Professor McGonagall, I heard someone suspiciously like Sirius (which really wouldn't surprise me) laugh at this name. Apparently the sorting is a very important ceremony, and our future house will be our new 'home' … to be perfectly honest, I couldn't really understand what she was getting at. And her words didn't make me any less anxious.

I reckon it'd helped if the woman had _smiled _at all. But no. She kept a very stony look throughout the whole procedure. Hence my first description: scary.

I can see the red-haired girl from the train in front of me. Her surname likely to start with an 'F' or an 'E' since we're all in alphabetical order. A rush of giddy relief floods through me when I realise I'm not first, and it's completely irrational, but I hold on to the small comfort that I'm not called something like _Iris Ashton_.

I pull out from my tangled thoughts, my gaze resting on the girl again. Her auburn hair keeps catching the firelight as she fidgets. I know she's nervous too; she keeps dusting herself. The greasy haired boy is near the back, and he keeps shooting covert glances at her. Well, he seems to switch between doing that and glaring at the back of James' head.

James incidentally, is a few places behind me - he's already been told off by the witch holding the parchment. He tried to talk to Sirius up ahead, succeeded too. It was only when he dared Sirius (rather loudly) to ask the hat whether it was fed up of being a: 'not-so-inanimate-object-with-the-dullest-job-on-the-planet' that he was caught by McGonagall. She's even scarier when she shouts.

And now I'm standing here.

Oh God, we're moving. Moving into the hall. _It's okay, it's impossible to forget how to walk forward. At least, I think so. You just move one foot then the other. Slowly. But not too slowly. In fact it's probably best to do it quickly, else you'll cause a hold-up. Do _not _cause a hold up. Walk forward quickly, _normally_. Just don't trip… _My thoughts don't exactly help qualm my nerves. They make things worse; my heart has begun to palpitate, irregular beats too loud in my eardrums.

I let out a little gasp when I walk through the great doors; the ceiling is like a brilliant painting of the sky, a perfect midnight blue and indigo darkness, flecked with luminescent stars. A girl next to me is muttering to herself about how the ceiling is charmed, and I notice how the ceiling isn't even a painting. It's _real_. I start to wonder if we'd all get wet if it started to rain. A shooting star flits across the length of the hall and then dissipates into the dark again. Before me there are four massive long tables, with about a hundred students sitting at each one. There's a long walk to the front - and a stool with a hat on it.

I know what we've got to do. The scary-looking witch already explained that. We just sit there. We sit, and then the hat might say a few things _in our minds _(… how does that work?) and then it'll sort us. And honestly, I can't figure out why I'm so _nervous_. I mean, it's not as if anything's going to happen depending on my sorting. There's nowhere I _can't _go-

Oh God. But there _is_. There is somewhere I can't go. Somewhere I _mustn't _go. Sirius' snide words from before ring sharply in my ears, causing nausea to wash over me in one all consuming wave:

"_Couple of Slytherins pushed him apparently. He was a muggleborn Slytherin, and you know how pure blooded the lot are. If you're a muggleborn and you're sorted into Slytherin, well you're done for…_"

A violent shudder shakes me, bile rises in my throat, and suddenly - I'm not so steady anymore. My legs feel like they'll buckle any second.

A question hits me like a punch to the gut, a question that I can't possibly answer.

What happens if I'm sorted into Slytherin?

A whisper cuts across my train of thoughts, it's from the girl next to me - she's even smaller than I am, with milky skin and cropped fair hair like an aureole of an angel. She's entwined ivy leaves into her hair, so it's like she's wearing some bizarre tiara of the forest. Something suspiciously like green grapes hang from her tiny ears. "Look at it!" I don't need to ask what she's talking about, I snap my eyes back to the stool. There's a rip at the hat's brim, and it opens up.

Do you know what the hat - yes, it's definitely a _hat _- does? It sings. _Sings_.

And even though it's a hat, even though, really, I'm considering running from this hall because everything's so strange, even though I'm pretty sure that I'll wake up from this dream - I can't help but listen intently:

"Hush now pupils, I am not loud,

And must be heard above the crowd,

I'm here to sort you, do not fear;

I shall not taunt, or mock or leer.

My task is set to sort you right,

And that I'll do, before the night!

But first the houses, I shall inform,

Their virtues since the start of dawn.

Gentle Hufflepuff, the kindest by far,

Her heart the purest, without a scar.

Known for modesty and fair play,

Here hard work and endurance pay.

Ever so patient, holding tact dear,

The most loyal in the face of fear.

Though Gryffindor could argue so,

In fear and threat he'd win the show,

Born with chivalry, ready to save,

Despite how hard, or consequences grave.

Known for nerve, valiant and bold!

Their iron will that will not fold.

Though Ravenclaws hold all the wit,

With their speed of thought, eyes alit.

If you are smart, there you should lie,

Intelligence plentiful if one is shy.

Those gifted who are seeking praise

Will be happiest there in later days.

The founders were great, bright, gifted,

Their prodigious powers rightly sifted.

Though in the group, there was another,

More clever and devious than any other

'Twas Slytherin who had the cunning,

Who made followers, sent others running,

These qualities are needed as such,

And intelligence is coveted much.

'Twixt good and evil, dare they lie,

Seizing power, or so they try.

Yet, let me not bore you,

My most fickle of friends.

Hogwarts shall create amends!

Here you'll thrive, if rightly sorted;

You're lucky I cannot be thwarted."

***

Several people have already been sorted. Sirius has had the longest one yet (and so what if I paid more attention to his sorting than others? He's one of the few - and yes, few means exactly three people, well, four if you count whoever the pallid 'Sev' is - people I _know_, even if he is a git); he looked both surprised and relieved when sorted into Gryffindor.

I can feel myself get more nervous by the second. It's an awfully long walk to the stool. I just know I'll trip spectacularly and crash head first into the floor - resulting, no doubt, in a gaping head wound that will not only impair my face into something completely hideous for life, but also spout copious amounts of blood that will stain the-

"Evans, Lily." McGonagall's cold voice cuts my crazed thoughts. It's probably for the better.

The red hair girl makes a small choking sound and walks forward on trembling legs. Well. I know her name now. That's got to be something. It suits her actually, the name Lily. Fits. There's a brief pause of silence again, and Lily's face is screwed up, her eyes shut tight and hands gripping the stool. And then-

"GRYFFINDOR!" Cheers erupt from a nearby table, and Lily scampers up to sit by them, a smile on her blushing face. I don't see how she's greeted though. I'm just staring at the stool. The hat. A mental dirge comes into my head.

Because it's me next.

***

Bloody Sorting hat.

Why, _why the heck _has it put me in Gryffindor? Eh? I'm not brave. I'm anything but. Why? Why, why, _why_?!

I can still here its voice (could it be a _voice_? Do hats' have voices?) ringing in my ears. It had an almost sardonic edge to it; a Slytherin for sure.

***

"_Tricky one you are_… _so complex. Ravenclaw blood far down the line I see_… _oh, oh but you don_'_t _know _anything. My, this _is _confusing. I'd never have expected Dumbledore to send someone like _you_… so young, so vulnerable. Future darker than even _I'd _expected… evidently the intent to prevent the event was clear - though I imagine Dumbledore's plans differed from your own. A brilliant plan, of course…and yet to place so much power in one so _young_? You're quite the opposite of what I'd have chosen. What qualities did he see? Indispensable, perhaps? No, that can't have been his intention…"_

I have to grip the edges with trembling fingertips to stop myself falling off the stool, and my previous nerves are now combined with an uncomfortable twisting in my stomach… Something about the hat's words registers with me as wrong. Strange. I'm pretty sure this isn't normal…

"_Quite right. I'm meant to be _sorting _you. I'll stop nosing around… you shouldn't really know anything anyway. Back to the matter at hand then. So shadowed. So shaded_… _ah, lots of stuff locked up in here_…"

Oh heck, am I supposed to talk to this hat? _Think _to it?

"_That's the general thing students do, yes. The thinking part, I mean, you can talk if you _want_, but then all if your happy chums would hear…"_

Right then. Think to it. Worth a try.

"…_My… so much left to chance. So obscure…"_

Surely this isn't what _normally _happens... I mean, the witchnever mentioned anything about the thing probing around in people's head and making them _more _confused. Really, this hat's starting to annoy me. I concentrate on my first question to it: _Er…What are you going on about?_

"_You_'_re head, my dear, your _mind_. It_'_s very intriguing. But I wonder_… _well, where do _you _think you belong?_"

The answer is obvious; it springs to the forefront of my thoughts instantly: _nowhere_.

"_Now, now, don_'_t be so sure of that_… _no, there are lots of - how can I put this - _suitable _places for you. Ah_… _muggle raised I see - that explains it then-_"

Explains what?

"_Interrupting me? Tut, tut_…I'm _the one asking the questions my dear_… _we better hurry - look, everyone_'_s staring. You_'_re the longest sorting this year. Longest sorting in a _few _years actually, oh I do like the variety…_" My eyes dart around the hall. The hat's right. Everyone _is _staring. My hands are starting to feel clammy. Oh, why couldn't they look somewhere else? Why me?

"_Oh, don_'_t fret. You_'_ll be a mystery to everyone. Quite the enigma already_… _but let_'_s see. I_'_ll give you your options, there_'_s Ravenclaw of course; you_'_re intelligent enough. Slytherin_'_s a bit of a wildcard_… _though you_'_ve got the skill, the cunning_'_s hidden, but it_'_s there_… _lacking in charisma maybe_… _Hufflepuff_'_s a bit-_"

Oh yeah. I forgot; I'm destined to be a Hufflefluff…

"_Hufflepuff my dear, Huffle_puff_. No. You're certainly not one of those. Too plain, easily accepted. No mysteries go there… ah, ah _now _I see it. This morning, broke free did you? Yes, yes it's clear now, better be…_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

***

Again: bloody hat.

I'd felt beyond self-conscious walking up to the table. It had only been a few meters away - barely any amount of distance, despite my previous allegation - but the walk had felt a lot longer. There'd been a buzz of inquisitive whispers amongst the cheering; the prolonged sorting hadn't gone unnoticed. Everyone had stared at me as I sat down, and the forced smiles of welcome at the table all said the same thing:

"_What's special about _her?"

But it's over now. I didn't trip up. I didn't fall in that big loch outside. I haven't been killed yet. It's a success.

I'm completely and utterly fine.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Because the fact is: I'm clearly _not _fine. I'm panicking. Already. Magic isn't something I could just pick up, I had to learn it, _use _it. And yet… I was already scared of it. Restlessly, my thoughts flick back to the compartment on the train; of Malfoy; of the deep gashes on still etched into my forearm-

_No, don't think about it. _

I catch a glimpse of my distorted reflection in a silver goblet; a pale ivory face, flecked with a light dusting of unwanted freckles across my nose and cheeks, long, very dark brown hair - tangled looking - falling carelessly around my face instead of up in the bun it had been before. And a pair of cobalt blue eyes, unsettling in a way, almost off-balancing in comparison to my other features. I look away from the reflection; it's too readable. Too scared looking.

_Just pull yourself together, Iris. _

I focus on picking up my fork instead of the chatter around me, keeping my eyes trained on the food - avoiding catching people's eyes. It's all so... surreal. I can't take it all in, the vastness of it, it's staggering. I'm just going to try and avoid all forms attention. Blend in. I know my pretence is a weak one, easily spotted - there's a girl with dark blonde hair next to me - the sort that you can tell was once very fair but has faded in the lack of sunlight. I can tell she's trying to draw me into her conversation, but I don't give her a chance with how I keep avoiding her gaze. Another girl's on my left, taller than me by about a foot. Though I suppose I am slouched down, trying to go by unnoticed in this strange new world. I can't tell whether the encounter with Malfoy caused this bout of timidity, or whether it's just who I really am.

A minute passes.

And another.

And _another_…

Time seems to drag on, irksomely slowly, stopping me from escaping to somewhere quieter, not that I'd know where to go. I'm not sure what I'm meant to do now. A mixture of that same unwanted claustrophobia resides inside me, the part of me that squirms away from the closeness of bodies on this long table, the incessant string of warm chatter - filled with that foreign excitement again. An excitement I both fear and crave to be my own.

And yet… there's also part of me, the dominant part, that wants to embrace what I'm experiencing, embrace it with my frail arms, accept that there are others just like me, accept the world in which I long to be accepted. And this desire makes my heart race; for that longing, that forbidden thrill, the _excitement _of it all - sings through my veins, pumping my blood ever faster.

I stop thinking like that at once.

_Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it-_

"Are you okay? You've barely eaten." A voice snaps me out of my thoughts, I look up. At first I don't register who it is, only that there's a boy with dark hair standing a little to my left, his hand resting on my chair. I flush when I recognise him. Sirius. It's _him_. Somehow he's next to me. _How did he get next to me?! _

Where the hell had the tall girl gone?

He's right of course, I'm picking at this great feast - barely eating it. But the notion is so small, so tiny, I can't figure out how he'd noticed it. Not unless he was watching me closely, which he can't have been, since I hadn't seen him anywhere near me (sadly, I checked earlier) so quite _how _he'd noticed something like that has me momentarily baffled.

I'm so shocked in fact, that I'm unable to dispel the disbelief from my expression, and accidentally, I meet his eyes. They're the exact same shade of grey of the sky before a turbulent storm.

_Oh God, look - now you're turning all sappy! What's with the description? Huh?_

I bite my lip self-consciously. He's still staring. _Why the hell is he still staring?!_

Oh, right. I haven't answered him.

_Duh_.

"Oh, I…" I do wish he'd stop _staring _like that… "I already ate."

"When?" _What's with the interrogation? _My voice is suddenly crisp, I can't help it. That same annoyance is brooding in me, I can feel it. It's him. He just… _evokes _it all.

"On the train."

He looks sceptical.

Yeah, he has the nerve to look _sceptical _about that.

And I really, _really _want to just…well, hit him. To be bluntly honest. I don't know why. I just do.

There's a pause then. I've quite forgotten that we're in the Great Hall. The puddings have arrived, great plates full of deserts, pies, cakes, ice-cream-

And my evidence of food on my plate vanishes the second I look down.

Sirius raises his eyebrows.

"Having pudding then?" He sits down in the chair next to me, scooting close and spooning off a substantial portion of treacle tart. It takes me a second too late to realise that I'm watching him instead of answering; I can see a smile pulling at his lips. He obviously noticed that.

"Sure." I pile on what ever is closest to me, unconsciously pulling down on my sleeve to hide the gashes. Abruptly, I'm ill at ease again; I can feel that he's watching me. The feast and all its festivities around us have become little less than a blur of colour in my peripheral vision, the noise dimmed down as if I'm underwater. I can't seem to think straight.

A thought comes to me, and before I can think better of it, I blurt out: "James gave me some of his food. On the train I mean." I look to down the table - James is talking to a boy with brown hair, laughing with him.

"'Course he did," Comes Sirius' muffled reply. It sounds awfully sarcastic.

"He did!" I say indignantly, rising to the bait. "He offered me sweets! There was a frog made of chocolate. Only it can't have been chocolate. It _moved_!"

And then Sirius does the most surprising thing.

He starts to laugh.

And it's not sarcastic, not mocking, not bitter. It's light and carefree. _Real _laughter. Rich and soft like butter, wrapping around me in a way nothing else has done before. It evokes the strangest reaction from me, one I can't quite understand.

Quite involuntarily, the smallest of smiles quirks my lips, I'm still looking at him, and he looks up from his pudding, the light from the suspended candles above throwing his features into greater relief.

"Well, who would've thought it," he murmurs softly, "she smiles."

I open my moth to reply - though I don't quite know what with - but stop when I hear the sharp, clear chiming sound from the front table. Sirius and everyone else turns to see an old man, standing up, gently chiming his crystal goblet. Smoothly, the buzz and chatter of the hall quietens to a soft hum.

A girl a few seats down from me is twirling a small silver badge around between her fingers. She drops it and hurries to pick it back up and pin it to her chest, I can hear her muttering to herself: "Dumbledore's up… his speech is later than normal… I wonder if he'll talk about our duties this year… I'm sure the first years need to know…" I look away from her to see Sirius watching me, and hurriedly avert my gaze to look at the old man - _Dumbledore _apparently - now fully upright, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for silence.

"Thank you," Dumbledore says, smiling kindly. I can't help but think that he's an odd looking wizard, massive white beard and long white hair. From here his nose looks slightly crooked, but I can't tell if it's just the angle. He's donned in sweeping robes of deep violet, much like the sweater I was wearing on the train.

Spreading his arms wide, he addresses us. "Another year, another excellent feast. I trust you all to agree to this. Our house elves" - I don't have a clue as to what _they _are - "should be commended, for they have provided yet another splendid cacophony of sumptuous dishes, platters and beverages. Though I have noticed that I find myself each year eating slightly more than I should when it comes to the puddings. Perhaps…" He's actually _stroking his beard_… definitely odd. "I have a sweet tooth."

A ripple of laughter goes out through the hall, and Dumbledore continues to smile. "To our new members of Hogwarts, I wish you a very warm welcome. I can promise a year of adventure and triumph for all of you. May you thrive in these walls like many others. To our older members, I also welcome, and am placing a responsibility in the most adept at you," The girl with the Prefects badge leans in closely at this. Her glasses keep slipping off the edge of her nose, "to watch out and care for the younger members," (an older boy opposite me - sixth year, I'd guess - snorts at this) "for it is only in companionship, that we find trust…" He continues talking, and I'm completely fascinated, if not nervous. His voice is one of the most powerful I've ever heard, booming throughout the entire hall, and clearly - judging by how even the _hum _of talk seems to have ceased - I'm not the only one who thinks this.

But then, I feel a nudge to my leg. I look to see Sirius again, and am tempted to turn away from him - but his expression stops me. It's different from before, a childlike worry in his eyes, concern evident. He nods at my arm, and I don't understand what he's talking about. He mouths something:

"_What happened?_" I frown at him, still not getting it. He points to my arm, then leans over - trying to lift up the sleeve of my robe - his hand brushing against my wrist-

And there's a flash-

The second his skin touches mine-

_I'm somewhere else. It's dark. _Different_. I'm running, diving in front of someone - A blinding green light; a dwindling cry; and a face. _His _face. Staring back at me, unseeing…_

"What's this?"

I'm back. Sirius is staring at me. Empty plates have replaced the puddings. There's no light. No cry. People are still looking at Dumbledore, he's talking about school regulations, a few others are conversing in whispers. Everything is completely normal.

Aside from my expression.

I look to Sirius again, trying to rearrange my thoughts, but then I see what he's holding.

My hand.

Before I can stop him, he's lifting up the sleeve properly - seeing the marks, the gashes caused by Malfoy's hex. I catch a glimpse of the ugly crisscross of red lines, prominent against my alabaster skin. His eyes widen, I yank it out of his grasp. My voice is thick; I'm still shaken from whatever happened. Still white, still scared.

"Don't touch me," It's only a whisper.

I look away from him, but no before I see the hurt in his eyes, intertwined with that innocent childlike worry again. My head feels stuffy. I can't take it. Can't think straight. The concern. The fear. Why does he even care?

Dumbledore's words drift to me, he's been talking all this time - but something's changed in the tone of his voice. It's more serious now, more compelling. I can feel Sirius still watching, and I try to concentrate on the wizard - try to distract myself, holding my arm close to my chest.

"…Let us not forget what dark times we are in," He was saying, and it's now I notice just how quiet the hall has become - how everyone's head is turned to Dumbledore, how people look almost afraid of his words. "In these walls," his spreads his arms again, "no harm will befall you. It is the outside world, the real one, that does that. There are those of us in here who are forever burdened in life. Those of us who have lost loved ones… We all have our struggles. Let us not be overpowered by them" His eyes sweep the hall, "In Hogwarts, here, your family is clear." A few confused looks are passed at this. "They surround you. And will protect you." A pause, "And let me remind you all that any deaths, any horrors, any things that may hit your loved ones… they are as life should be. They are what happens. Blame should not be placed onto anyone of you, who has not committed a sin. Do not let yourself fall into a trap of false culpability; you must live in the present, not dwell on the past. It is only through the present that we live, and only the future that we can change."

And I swear, right there - he looks at _me_. Literally, _right _at me. His piercing blue eyes holding my gaze for a second longer before saying-

"And with that, I bid you goodnight. May your dreams be as frivolous and light as snowflakes; ones that cannot be remembered come dawn."

***

Dumbledore's words have followed me all the way up to the dormitory; I'm so sleepy my eyelids keep flickering shut, like they're too heavy to keep open. But as I stumble to an elaborate four-poster-bed, they keep echoing in my head, imprinted in my mind._ "May your dreams be as frivolous and light as snowflakes; ones that cannot be remembered come dawn…" _An unwelcome thought comes to me. My dreams have invariably been nightmares since the institute, and I know that not even words from a powerful wizard can change that.

"_May your dreams be as frivolous and light as snowflakes; ones that cannot be remembered come dawn…"_

The incident with Sirius flashes up behind my closed eyelids, and at the memory of the piercing green light, my eyes fly open again.

My breathing is too fast, my pulse too quick. I can't help but think that Dumbledore's words won't apply to me. Involuntary, a shiver shakes me. I pull the covers closer around me, cocooning myself in them, burying my head beneath them so that nothing can touch me. So that unseen monsters can't cause pain.

After a while longer, I feel the urge of sleep pulling my eyes shut. And I'm slipping - slipping into a fitful sleep that I know won't last. Before long I'm dreaming, how I know this - I'm not sure. I just know everything's too bright to be real, too airy to have proper substance. But these dreams are fragmented ones, ones where I'm running and falling and diving all at the same time. Dreams that are held together by the thinnest of threads, bordering on fantasy and reality, flickering between light and darkness. Images and colour merging together to form entirely new entities, a story plays out behind my closed eyelids flitting between the two opposite worlds like the darting movements of a dancer's feet.

And by the time I awake, I can't remember a thing.

***

**(A/N: **So how'd you like the chapter? Good? Not so good? Abysmal? Simply spiffing? (*sigh* non one says 'spiffing' anymore, do they?) do review and tell me, I'd really appreciate it.

Next chapter we'll see a bit more of the characters, and their youth will show a bit, me thinketh. (And we may - God forbid - have some _humour_. Oh, the horror!) Iris is very formal in comparison to others at this point, over the years she'll soften up a bit, not be so on edge all the time. Her childhood's not as light and carefree as everyone else's. But yup. I'll say no more, I give too much away half the time I babble.

PLEASE review ;) It'd really make my day. And remember! I can update more than once. So when do you want the next update? Hmm?

Oh, oh, OH! ;) In the Sorting hat's little song (I'm sorry if it's not up to par - as previously mentioned, and as you can probably _tell_, I'm officially NOT a poet, and recent slaving over poetry coursework has actually reduced me to the point of practically _loathing _anything that rhymes… so yeah. Rhyming in a review? Not advised. I have a spatula. And yes, it _is _a sinister weapon. :p) there is my FAVOURITE word _ever_. :p

That's right. Best word in the history of words. And it's in the Sorting Hat's song. Whoever gets it right will earn a, erm… prize! So there's a challenge: spot my favourite word and you'll get an… _extended _Sneaky Peaky that's *wait for it*…. Over 500 words. That's pretty hefty. You can't pass _that _up. ;)

Oh. And hey? Not one of you appreciated my grand use of sibilance in the last sneaky peaky title. I am most upset.**)**

**A Small Epic (**… *snorts* an oxymoron. Oh, so _clever _of me!**) of a Sneaky Peaky **:

I can feel myself tilting, so I grab the pillar of the bed to stop myself. Everything seems hazy, like I'm going to pass out. I let go of the bed, frowning to myself; I know I didn't eat enough the night before - surely that's the only reason for my light-headedness, but I don't want to think about food right now. The thought of breakfast isn't at all appealing - if anything, I feel queasy; my hand flutters to my stomach. I feel as if I'm about to retch - I'm still bent over, still scared.

And then a timorous voice cuts the sleepy silence.

"…I-Iris?"

***

Lily - who suggests you have a pita bread sandwich, with lettuce and… _breadsticks_. (She has been eating far too many breadsticks. They're bound to have some fatal side effect) It's ever so tasty. She just had one. She also really does advise you all to **review**, she reckons you'd benefit from the experience. It's character building.


	7. Chapter 6: Excuses of a Child

**Disclaimer:** I will own _Harry Potter _when I can construct a triangle from its angle bisectors.

**(A/N: **I'm going to apologise in advance. I'm afraid I've decided to torment you all with a tediously long A/N. Don't hate me too much for it, the chapter's quite long too, so perhaps that's compensation. ;) I've been a bit of a nervous wreck since I got home from school, to be perfectly honest, although luckily most of this A/N was written before I received some bad news, else I probably wouldn't have updated today.

Long story short: my dad got crushed on the tube (… I always thought those doors were dangerous. Suspicions confirmed) he's currently in hospital in London, and is about to have an operation due to the fact that he's just broken his leg. He phoned me about 3 hours ago, and was in one heck of a lot of pain. It was a big shock for me - I don't deal with news like that well (picture me white and about to faint holding the telephone and threatening through tears: "You _better _get better!" ;) heh. Yeah.)

So yup. Review if you've got a spare moment, it'd lighten up my ultimate crummy day; I'm not in the cheeriest of moods. But hey, I'm doing my _very best _not to come across as some pathetic mope! I don't want to come across as all silly and depressed because I'm not, and am in no ways seeking sympathy - I'm just a little shaken. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm fine too. :D And with that I promise there'll be NO depressive stuff ;)

Please be aware that I _am _very sorry (would I lie to you? … and yes, that _was _a rhetorical question) I didn't update twice like I stated last chapter. *Promptly loses the good reputation update-wise that has built up* So… okay, yes, I lied THEN. But it wasn't really a lie. More of a…bad promise. And I'm sorry this is a late update too _but _- I do have an initial excuse. I was going to update last Thursday, however there was something well all know and love called: the weather, dear friends. 'Twas the _weather_. It stopped me.

THERE. WAS. SNOW. *ultimate gasp*

And I know, I know, England (oh, and _America _come to think of it. And _Canada_. And _Iceland_-… well, there are a lot of countries I could start listing) has received _tonnes _of snow over the Christmas period and at the start of January but - I _missed all of it_. (You should feel terribly sympathetic for this.)

And so at the arrival of said snow, I couldn't get to my mother's house (where the beloved wireless internet is situated) and thus - _could not _update. So, the blame this week is shifted to… God. *Apologies, if I'm coming across as terribly insensitive/blasphemous. Do not destine me to a death in the fiery realms of hell. I'd far rather die from breadstick consumption.) So yes. It's he who should blame… If you believe he's the one who controls the weather. (Don't tell him off for it though - that snow was very much appreciated by me.) Otherwise… blame… the greeenhouse effect. Everyone blames the good old greenhouse effect.

Aside from that initial excuse however, I'm afraid the only reason I haven't updated is because I've been doing a lot of schoolwork, Art in particular, and yes, it's all been very tedious and taxing and I'd _far _rather write but then that's life. Anyway: today is Thursday. We all hate Thursdays (unless you're one of those… _optimistic _people *cough_freak_cough* who enjoy Thurdsays as they're before Friday…) And today, for me, it has been an exceptionally crummy Wednesday, due to me being very fed up because of an English essay; utterly exhausted due to getting back at 1.00am from the _King Lear _performance in Stratford; numerous mock tests in Chemistry and Physics; and still annoyed because on Monday it _snowed_ again, but I, being a very stupid individual, decided to go out of my way to get to school, only to have, well, a crummy Monday, and then, a crummy Tuesday and then a crummy Wednesday and THEN today: a crummy Thursday. So, because I'm updating on this horrible day (yes. It is horrible. I've decided Thursdays perpetually are. Anyone who _dares _to contradict me shall face the wrath of my cooking implements) therefore, I am _brightening up _your horrible day - perhaps I could be forgiven? Eh?

The response to this story so far has been staggering. Really. We're what? Only 6 chapters in (7 including the one I'm so graciously giving out today :p) and there's already **82 **reviews! :D *Grins* To everyone who's been reviewing I want to give a nelephant-sized thank you , and to others who are just reading, well… you're great too and all, but I'm afraid you get no such praise bestowed upon you. Yup. That is your _penance _for not popping along and saying 'Hi.' or 'update' or 'I like this' or 'LEARN HOW TO WRITE!' or something equally stimulating ;) You're missing out terribly. I'm going to list all the brilliant people who reviewed, may all who don't feel immense jealously at their mentions: _Krazykook_; _Tangled Silken Traces_; _Spartans2300_; _Naflower05_; _angharad xoxo_; _I. S. Watcher_; _Amy Eva_; and _Joelle8. _Thank you!

Special credit (that's right: _special_) goes to the reviewers: _Squid7000_; _Jade Lyssy Swan_; and _Blue Tulips _for their amazingly LONG reviews :D I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to them all, I try to reply to as many as I can.

Ahhh, the jealously - let it _brew_! :p And yes, again, if you reviewed and you're not up there, no - it's not because I've decided that I hate you and simply refuse to even mention your penname, it's because I've almost certainly got premature dementia, and am consequently losing my memory at who reviewed last chapter. Again, you're permitted to throw a blunt pencil. OH! To all who guessed that my favourite word was _thwarted (_c'mon, you can't deny that that's THE most amazing word _ever_) - just demand an extra sneak peek.

Oh, and before you read: Slughorn will not be teaching Potions until Iris' third year, I'm not entirely sure when he started but it's a minor detail so I trust you're not all going to be completely devastated not to have him teaching yet. If you haven't noticed - this story is actually **canon**. That's why everything that happened on the train is interlinked with JK's version. :D I'm not going to say whether it's going to stick as canon… it depends how much my plot changes.

Please note: I am sorry for the drivelling babbling, I'm aware of how ridiculously long this A/N is. It won't be this long again, promise. I've tried to stop doing it. Really. Oh heck - I'll just shut up. Enjoy the chapter!**)**

**Betwixt and Between **

_By: Lily Swan_

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

After a while longer, I feel the urge of sleep pulling my eyes shut. And I'm slipping - slipping into a fitful sleep that I know won't last. Before long I'm dreaming, how I know this - I'm not sure. I just know everything's too bright to be real, too airy to have proper substance. But these dreams are fragmented ones, ones where I'm running and falling and diving all at the same time. Dreams that are held together by the thinnest of threads, bordering on fantasy and reality, flickering between light and darkness. Images and colour merging together to form entirely new entities, a story plays out behind my closed eyelids flitting between the two opposite worlds like the darting movements of a dancer's feet.

And by the time I awake, I can't remember a thing.

*******

Chapter 6:

**Excuses of a Child**

I wake up abruptly.

Because I swear - seconds before, I heard a litany. My name. Repeated over and over.

"_Iris, Iris, Iris, Iris, Iris…" _

And there's such a peculiar feeling coursing through me right now, like everything's revolving round and round. I feel slightly sick. Dizzy. My eyes flicker open - half scared in case there's nothing but pressing darkness around me. But it's not that dark, I can still see, albeit poorly - recognising the crimson hangings that surround me. Encasing me like a butterfly's cocoon. And nothing's revolving, it's all perfectly still, perfectly silent.

This is the third time I've woken up. Each time I'm trembling, trapped in that awful state of convulsive shivers where it's too hot to stay beneath the blankets yet too cold to get out of them. I try to grasp the images that flashed behind my eyelids what feels like mere seconds before - but again they fade. Falling away before I can see them clearly enough.

I lie still for a few moments, concentrating on slowing my breathing, assuring myself no one's talking, that everything's as it's meant to be.

Dark tendrils of hair are plastered to my forehead - held there by cold sweat. I can't remember my dream. Can't put it together. Fragments of it are there, hanging precariously in the balance of my mind. But they're too close to the edge. About to tip over the precipice into the forgotten.

I sit up straight in bed. There's no way I'm going to get back to sleep now. I want to kick myself for waking up so early - it can't be even six yet. I pull back the hangings of the four poster and look out the window; the dawn light outside is that canvas of pale mauve and lilac that only appears at this hour, splintered simply by the faint scattering of grey clouds, low in the sky. There's mist too - rising and falling lightly, like lithe ribbons dancing-

_There's a man with a white beard, and half moon spectacles, with a jolt I recognise him - Dumbledore, standing by an ornate window, the curtains drawn - watching the mist. My heart is racing, blood pounding, but I concentrate. For some reason, I know I _have _to concentrate. He's talking - but I can't hear properly, I have to strain my ears to catch it:_

"_Please remember something for me…"_

With a sudden shock, I'm back. Only I'm not in the bed anymore; I've fallen out, cheek pressed against cold stone. I stand shakily to my feet, only to find myself doubled over, and drawing in deep, ragged breaths. I have no idea what just happened. A mixture of horror and confusion cloud my thoughts. _It's nothing. Nothing. Just a dream or something. You're still tired - just go back to sleep_. But I know I won't be able to. I'm not in the slightest bit tired now. It's just like what happened when I got onto the train, the same constricted sensation that had happened when Sirius had touched me at dinner…

These thoughts send my mind into overdrive.

I can feel myself tilting, so I grab the pillar of the bed to stop myself. Everything seems hazy, like I'm going to pass out. I let go of the bed, frowning to myself; I know I didn't eat enough the night before - surely that's the only reason for my light-headedness, but I don't want to think about food right now. The thought of breakfast isn't at all appealing - if anything, I feel queasy; my hand flutters to my stomach. I feel as if I'm about to retch - I'm still bent over, still scared.

And then a timorous voice cuts the sleepy silence.

"…I-Iris?"

I whip around so quickly, I topple and hit the bed post. The red-haired girl - Lily - is staring at me, adorned in a cream nightgown, crimson hair mussed up from sleep.

She looks very worried.

I bite my lip, unsure what to do, what to say. I straighten myself quickly, brushing down at my pyjamas, as if to cleanse myself. "That's your name right?" Lily whispers, looking torn between approaching me and moving away. I half hope she'll do the latter.

I can't reply; my mouth is too dry, the texture of old paper. I nod slowly, and hesitantly, Lily walks up to me, enough so that the faint light from the sky outside illuminates my expression, which is probably just as nervous and worried as hers. "Are you okay?" She's still whispering.

_No. I'm someone who will be useless at magic, and probably isn't even a real witch…I'm probably here by mistake and will get sent back home, which would be really awful since my parents probably hate me right now. I keep having horrid, weird vision things... And I'm scared. Really scared. Oh, and I feel like I'm going to throw up, which would be really disgusting. So overall, I'm not okay, not in the slightest. _

Of course, this isn't what I say to the girl.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Just had a bad dream, that's all." My voice is thick, false sounding - I hope she can't detect the lie in it.

"You sure? You… you were doubled up…"

"I'm okay, I just felt a bit sick." She doesn't look very convinced but nods all the same, I'm grateful for that, I'd no doubt crumple under any further interrogation. Slowly, I walk over the window and sink wearily to the seat beneath it, Lily's small face is calculating, and, after a moments pause - she sits down next to me.

"I've been up since five," She murmurs quietly, "couldn't sleep. Too nervous." She gives me a hesitant smile; I'm a little late in giving one of my own.

"I know," I say back, "I can't quite believe it still…" She nods eagerly, her voice rising a bit, and begins talking very quickly.

"Me neither! I was so shocked when I got the letter! I mean, Sev told me it would come - but I didn't believe it or anything, I thought it was joke. It seemed to good, y'know? Too _perfect_. Tuney always thought I was a weirdo - I did too. I don't believe it was _magic _all those times… I blew up a bottle once." She grins, a little impishly at me, "I didn't _mean _to. But Tuney was really irritating me at school, and I got really cross, and then - just - boom!" She expands her arms, "lemonade exploded out of it. She got _soaked_."

I can't help it, I giggle slightly. My hand flies up to my lips the second the sound has been released. Lily seems to find my shocked expression funny, for she giggles too. I don't know what I'm more shocked by. Shocked by the laughing, or shocked that conversation is so easy between her and me. Shocked it's so _natural_. Though I haven't the faintest idea who _Sev _or _Tuney _are. There's a moment where we stifle our laughter in the semi-darkness, until there's a loud snore from the bed directly opposite me. Lily and I turn our heads to each other simultaneously, and burst out into another fit of giggles.

And it's such a pleasant feeling. Laughing like this, so light, so _free_. I'm half disappointed when I see how much time has passed; the once dark sky is turning a faint blue - the sun peaking out from behind the dense mass of clouds. The mist has subsided somewhat, so that I can see just how large the grounds are.

"Do you know what we'll…er… learn first? What class, I mean…" I ask anxiously. Apprehension instantly clouds Lily's expression, her lips pucker in thought as she quickly darts over to her bed. Before I can do so much as blink, she's back again. A small black notebook clasped in her porcelain hands.

"I write a diary," She explains quickly, "I _think _that witch said something about getting a timetable when I asked her… though I'm not sure whether that's for the second years or us. I don't think many people write diaries but I couldn't sleep last night, even though all that food made me really sleepy! So I wrote up what happened..." She's flicking through pages upon pages of scribbled writing, it's hard to keep my mouth from gaping like some fish out water. "Ah, wait - here is it is!" She grins and puts on a voice, a passable imitation of McGonagall's strict one:

"All first years will be shown to the Great Hall for breakfast. All first years will then proceed to their first classes, time tables will be provided."

I can help it - I laugh again, she's got the haughty impersonation spot on. "All first years must remember to be punctual," She drops the voice to look questioningly at me "that means on time, right?" I nod quickly, and she continues to read from her diary: "All first years are to contact a prefect if confused about their lessons. Tardiness is frowned upon at Hogwarts. First years are to be reminded that, under no circumstances, are they allowed to turn up to lessons late or improperly dressed."

I grin at Lily, whispering: "What if we get _lost_?" Lily just smiles again, pushing up imaginary glasses on her nose, repeating:

"All first years are to contact a prefect if confused-"

There's a groan from the bed beside Lily, she stops talking and we both swivel around quickly to see a small face poke out from the red hangings of the bed. A girl with lightly tanned skin and raven black hair. She looks terrified, and suddenly topples to the floor in a crumpled heap. She jumps to her feet quickly, looking round, and spluttering wildly:

"I thought - I heard - _McGonagall_… she's - she's not here is she?"

She turns wildly as if McGonagall's prowling behind some cupboard like a panther, ready to spring out in a dressing gown and start issuing detentions. The mental image is so ludicrous - McGonagall as a panther, I mean - I find myself nearly bursting with the urge to laugh. I have to bite my lip hard to stop.

"I'm sure - I heard…" She lets out a huff of air, sinking back to the bed. "I bet it was just a dream... Nightmare, actually. She scares me." Finally, the girl looks up at us; she frowns, brown eyes flickering from me to Lily and back again. Her voice is suspicious. "Why do you both look like you're constipated?"

Lily and I are reduced to giggles again.

***

I should have expected this.

I'm at breakfast. And I'm not hungry. That same sensation I experienced when I woke up is churning my stomach again. It's a mixture of fear and killer nerves. There's a small piece of toast on my plate; but I'm not going to eat it. Lily's next to me - she's already eaten a piece of toast, and is pouring herself some sugary cereal. She'll notice I haven't eaten anything soon, so I quickly grab a bowl myself and pour out some muesli. The act of spooning food into my mouth is easier to deal with.

I don't pick up the spoon though. My hands are shaking a bit, and picking up the spoon would make this obvious. Inside I chide myself. It's so _irrational. _Stupid hands. Stupid trembling. Stupid _nerves_.

_Don't be so pathetic, Iris. _

A little away from me, I can see Sirius and James sitting together. Both are laughing, food piled high on their plates. A pale, thin looking boy with light brown hair is sitting next to them. After a few moments I recognise him: he's the one James was laughing with at the feast last night. As if sensing my stare, James looks up at me, sends a fleeting smile, and then turns to say something to Sirius. I look down at my museli. It looks like wood chippings. More to distract myself than anything else, my eyes flicker back to the brown-haired boy.

On closer inspection, he looks nervous, and, like me - seems to be contemplating the food before him rather than eating it. He watches James and Sirius next to him, and his expression is of both fondness and sadness at the same time. At first I can't quite understand what's so different about him, but finally I grasp it: his expression seems _older_…

Lily's talking again; I concentrate on the conversation - the one I'm meant to be participating in.

"…and I don't really know whether I'll like Defence Against the Dark Arts - it sounds really-"

"Cool!" James cuts across her, grinning. I look up - both he and Sirius have come to sit opposite us, each expression mirrors the other: a boyish disruptiveness I can't quite put my finger on. Lily exhales in exasperation, not bothering to hide her annoyance. She stares at them for a moment; lips pursed, and then turns back to me.

"Difficult," she continues, "but Mary said something about it being one of the most exciting subjects. Her brother's in 3rd year, I think. What other ones… oh, Charms sounds good - I can already do one of the spells in the text book-"

"You've _already _read it?" James interrupts, incredulity filling his expression, "you've _already _made yourself do homework." Lily doesn't answer, "_Already_?" James repeats like she didn't hear; he's clearly horrified.

Lily just continues to talk to me. Apparently she's ignoring James.

"It wasn't all that difficult, just a useful spell to open locked things. I learnt it without too much effort after I'd bought the text book. It's called: '_Alohomora_,' and it's-" I must look worried, because she stops suddenly, turning away from James' open mouthed gape of horror (which, if I wasn't so nervous, would be extremely funny) to look me in the eye. Quickly, in an undertone, she says "Don't worry; I don't think you _need _to learn it or anything. I was just interested and it wasn't very difficult..."

"I don't think I'll be able to do any magic," The illicit thought slips from my lips, and I feel uneasy after I've said it. My defences are all down now. I hadn't realised how small, how scared my own voice sounds until this point. I feel like a mouse.

Lily blinks at me, neat brows drawing together before she touches my hand. It's the lightest of touches, like the brush of a butterfly's wing, but it's enough to make me know how sincere she is. Her voice is very soft.

"I'm muggleborn too, remember?" She whispers, kindness plain in her jade eyes "I can teach you it later tonight, if you'd like; it only took me over the weekend. Promise it's not too difficult." Warm relief washes through me, and rearrange my shocked expression to stop Lily's worried one. She's so lovely. I still can't believe she wants to be friends with me.

"Thanks," I breathe, and she beams back at me.

James then decides to make us remember he's there. I don't think he appreciated not being part of the conversation. _And attention_, my mind adds quietly.

"I still don't know why you've _already _read it!"

***

So here we are. My first lesson of Potions. This is the only subject I've assumed I'll be good at, and I think I'll like it too. Only somehow this predetermined thought of me being _good _at Potions has somehow made me even more nervous than usual. I'm gripping my wand so tightly - I'm half afraid that it's going to snap. It's silly too; I probably don't even need to _use _my wand for Potions, unless you have to do some hocus pocus stuff to mix things. Come to think of it, what _do _you use? A ladle? A big stick?

My worried thoughts are cut off when I'm knocked into the wall. Dull pain sears through my left arm as I'm pushed against it, and I start to panic, breathing far too heavily for a normal person who happens to be stuck in a crowded corridor. I count in my head to stay calm, before any of my tangled thoughts start to think that I'll surely be squished. I still can't breathe yet. Oh, crud. I'm going to suffocate. _Suffocate_.

_Of all the deaths, suffocation is probably the most pathetic Iris, you're a witch for goodness sake, cast a spell, push away-_

But in another second the force is off me, and I'm able to walk a long a bit, still pressed against the wall to avoid being jostled into again. The throng of students passing in the corridors is beyond intimidating - a couple of older students were hexing someone a few meters back, and I had no idea what to do. Watch - trapped by half concern, half awe, at the brilliant flashes of light that went between a pair of two gangly boys like some furious tennis rally - or run the other way in an attempt to stay out of the line of fire. As it was, I didn't do either of those things; McGonagall stopped the duel by casting some spell that made both of the boys freeze at once.

It was quite impressive actually.

But now Lily's steering me away from everyone, we're descending stairs two at a time.

"I don't _believe _we're late!" Lily whispers worriedly a little in front of me, and after a slow moment I realise we're going into the dungeons. The air is suddenly a lot colder. "First day too - first day, and we're late. I hate that Potter, really, really _hate _him. A whole year of people to pester and he chooses _us_-"

"_You _Lily." I correct, and it's a mark of how nervous she is to get to get to the class that she doesn't whirl around and glare at me, "I think you were the only one affected by his 'pestering'. He only said that you were going to be good at Charms, it was a compliment-"

"It was _not _a compliment," She grinds out as we hurl round a corne, careful not to slip on the smooth stone tiles, "he was just trying to appear nice. I can tell he didn't mean it. It's that… that sarcasm stuff, that's what it was-"

But she stops talking; we've reached the door of our classroom. By the hush from inside, I can tell the lesson's already started. Lily's mimicking of McGonagall rings in my ears_: "Tardiness is frowned upon at Hogwarts. First years are to be reminded that, under no circumstances, are they allowed to turn up to lessons late…" _For some reason, this isn't so funny anymore.

Lily extends a small white fist, and tenderly raps on the door, then steps back. We can hear hushed whispers from the other side, and in a bang the door swings open - if Lily was standing where she'd been a second ago, she'd be hit in the face. A tall, emaciated looking man stands at the front of the class. He's wearing robes of a deep grey, almost identical to the wall behind him; he looks stonily at us both. My throat seems to have closed up - I start spluttering out something to save us, hopefully I'll be eloquent enough so that'll he'll just ask us to sit.

"We, we were walking, but-" My mind has gone blank, some people are sniggering, I just know I've gone as scarlet as Lily's hair. Perfect. I am, once again, rendered completely and utterly inarticulate. Oh crap. Now he's frowning. Not. Good. _Keep talking Iris; keep talking_…"um, we got - sort of - well-" Lily looks absolutely mortified, and I can tell by her expression that I'm only making things ten times worse, "lost." The last part is very small, I feel as if I've shrunk about a foot, which really isn't much of a feat seeing as I'm already too small.

"Funny, I noticed that," The man says dryly, he has a nasally, vaguely irritated sounding voice, I don't look into his eyes - they're a disturbing sort of green. No emerald like Lily's, but a deep, murky colour, flecked with brown and yellow, like some frog's. I settle on looking at his hands, he's twirling his wand loosely between his bony waxen fingers. Irrationally, my heart beats faster. He'll probably curse us. Or stab us. Or just shove us in one of the bubbling cauldrons. Or-

"We're sorry sir," Lily says, and I decide to concentrate on the matter at hand, instead of possible ways this teacher can kill us. Lily looks embarrassed, although only a rosy tint has shown in her cheeks, instead of the blazing inferno that's managed to work its way up my face and neck. I almost want to frown at her, somehow _her _voice is steady, sounding innocent and sincere, instead of my spluttering nonsense, "it won't happen again."

"I trust not," He says, then seems to frown at us for a prolonged moment before saying: "These are the mere excuses of a child. Pathetic, in short." I half feel like pointing out that we are, after all, only eleven and very much still classified as children, but somehow I don't think this will help the matter. "Do not let this happen again, next time I will not be so lenient. Sit down," the Slytherins in the class let out an audible sigh of disappointment at this lack of punishment, but I do my best to look grateful and scamper to an empty seat in the corner, Lily takes one a few seats in front.

"As I was saying," The man drones, swishing back to the front and flicking his wand idly to reveal a blackboard on the wall, "the cabalistic teachings by me should stick in your memory, as strongly as a leech clings to the skin," _ugh, not a nice simile, _"to be recalled not only in exams and school, but in life. The way we acquire control is through the elements. We must brew them, must mix them, must combine and coalesce to create concoctions of such magnitude and power that our enemies will cower and wither from such supremacy…" He caries on talking, fervently, _disturbingly_...

And right now. _Right now_. I realise that no - I don't like Potions. Not one bit.

Because clearly, this teacher is a _freak_.

***

"Well that was… weird." Lily says as we exit the potions classroom, rifling through her satchel to find her timetable.

"He's creepy," I agree, shuddering slightly and turning left (I've remembered we've got Herbology next - I assume it _is _outside) "I mean, I was willing to ignore his little speech at the start…" I trail off as Lily nods in agreement, adding:

"But when he started showing the slides of-" But she's interrupted.

"Something that looks curiously similar to a castrated cat? I know. Not suitable really, considering we're first years and all, dear Remus looked about ready to faint. And I never took him for the, you know, faints-at-castrated-cats-type, but then, how can you tell? I've only known him since yesterday, and it's not the sort of thing you can pick up on easily. Unless you're Dumbledore, I 'spose. He'd probably spot one of them a mile away, brains like his…"

Both Lily and I turn to see James, hair slightly messy, hands in the pockets of his trousers, grinning behind us. Lily stares at him for a long moment, her lips slightly parted, and there's such incredulity in her expression, I'm half surprised James doesn't cower. Okay, I'm going to be honest. Haven't a clue what _castrated _means, but by Lily's expression - it can't be anything good.

"_What_?" Her voice is very cold. James merely continues to smile, the picture of innocence. It's only now that I notice Sirius is walking out the class behind him. His eyes catch mine, and I suddenly become incredibly interested in James' shoes. An irrational need to rush off to Herbology suddenly grips me, and it's only with effort that I manage to stay still and wait for Lily to finish.

But with another look at Lily's expression, I find myself worrying that she's going to need a while.

"Cat," James repeats simply, "you know, the small, fluffy looking things?" Lily doesn't speak, she looks cross. Very cross. James seems to take her lack of speech as a sign to continue with the definition of what a cat is. "Often ginger. McGonagall secretly _is _one. Couple of people have them as pets-"

"I know what a cat is," Lily snaps at him. James strolls closer, and she holds her ground, glaring back at him. I'm stood by Lily's side feeling trapped. Sirius is directly opposite me and he's looking - openly _staring _- at my wrist. I want to throttle him for being so obvious.

"Then what's with the expression of disbelief?" James questions, looking stunned by Lily's hostility. I'm tempted to throttle him too - for winding Lily up like this and for being so oblivious about how he's annoying her. Only I'm half grateful for it: without James, Lily would surely pick up on Sirius odd behaviour, more specifically, his stares.

"You said the cat looked castrated." She says coldly, but James looks back at her, utterly nonplussed.

"That's just repeating what I just said, Evans. I appreciate that you listened and all…"

I'm sure the use of her second name isn't a good move. "_Castrated_?" Nope. Not a good move _at all_. Lily's voice is getting higher. For some reason, this strikes me as a very ominous sign. Perhaps I won't be useless at divination after all. "_Castrated_?!"

"I don't need to tell you what that means too, do I? Honestly, I'm not a walking library, Evans-"

"Oh, you think you're so _funny_!"

Inwardly, I sigh. This could go on for a while.

"That wasn't a cat. Professor Borage explained - it's what happens to animals when given the Draught of Living Death mixed with Monksbane after being stewed in the third-"

"And just what animal do you think that was?"

"A cat, but-"

"And did it, or did it not - look _significantly _like it was castrated?"

Lily is spluttering, I settle this argument the only way I can, by grabbing her arm - and pulling her round the corner, away from James. I'm half afraid James will only tail us, only Sirius is whispering something to him, undoubtedly hilarious, as it makes him burst out into laughter. This noise aggravates Lily, she starts to prise my fingers off her arm, muttering furiously, but it's only after we're down the great staircase and sufficiently far away from the two laughing boys that I let go of her. She won't speak to me for cutting her argument short. I can't help but think it's something very _silly _to get worked up about, not that I don't admire her stamina; she's still muttering come the time we're at Greenhouse One.

"It _was not _a castrated cat..."

***

We're sitting at dinner. And I'm sat at the seat I've managed to snag 5 times consecutively in the last two weeks, not that it's very special, or an achievement, or even something worth _mentioning_… I frown and study the table; there's such an odd selection of food at Hogwarts - I still can't quite get my head round it. I mean, after you actually try something, generally it's delicious. It's just the act of _trying _that's the hard part. I mean, right now - a boy called Peter (he seems to like his food, he's always down here before I arrive) is spooning out great quantities of _Newt Spawn Soup. _

I'm sorry, but that just doesn't sound _edible_…

I settle with taking a Pumpkin Pasty. I must have eaten over 20 of these since I've arrived. This is because I know what they're like; they're my safety food, in a way. I know nothing awful will happen to me if I eat them.

That, and the fact that they're surprisingly tasty.

Lily is talking to Mary opposite us, she's a girl in our dormitory with pale, slightly washed out skin (although she gets two rosy cheeks whenever she blushes, something that happened yesterday when Sirius borrowed her pen, not that I know why) and hair like a field mouse's fur, coming out in little curly ringlets near her ears.

I haven't really spoken to her… okay; I haven't to spoken to _anyone _bar Lily yet. She's so much more sociable than I, possessing this warm era that just makes people melt as easily as butter when they meet her. It's hard not to like Lily. I envy how confident she is, how easily she can adapt to things. But at the same time I'm glad I don't receive the attention she gets - other girls in the dormitory looked up to her, asked her for help with spells, advice even. I'd never be able to help like that.

I've finished my pasty, and am just helping myself to another when a girl sits down by Lily. Her movements are very supple, sylphlike in a way. A grace I'd never be able to achieve, I'm sure. She's pretty too - black curls and faultless skin, no freckles or moles to mar it. But there's something else. A scowl is set on her red lips, she juts them out when putting potatoes on her plate, none too lightly at that, the look is petulant. And although it's just a scowl, just a look, to me her expression seems to transform her beauty, morphing it into something different - darker.

"Are you okay?" Lily asks hesitantly, "you look sort of…" she struggles for a word for a second, "cross." she finishes lamely.

"_Cross_?" The girl's voice is very piercing, like she's close to being hysterical, but she drops this pitch in her next words, so that they're more of a bitter mutter. "You could say that."

Lily frowns, even with someone rude like this girl; you can see that she still cares. Her voice is careful, like she's not intending to pry, though I can tell she's filled with curiosity.

"What's making you cross then?"

"I've _tried _to deal with it. _Tried _to settle-" she sighs irritably, her pitch reverting back to the high soprano, "but I _can't_. I can't face it any more. I've been sorted into the wrong house. It's obvious I was meant to be in Ravenclaw."

"Oh." Is all Lily can say to this. "Are you… sure?" I can tell the question isn't really meant to be met by an answer; she just wants to keep the conversation from any awkward silences. Though this seems to be all the other girl needs to carry on.

"Yes, I'm _sure_." Lily can't quite mask her shock at the scorn in her tone, "I know all the textbooks by _heart_." My stomach plummets… seriously? Off by heart? I'd only read a few measly _chapters.._. "And yet that damned hat puts me in _this _house," she wrinkles her delicate in nose in evident disgust, "where people rant on about _chivalry _and _bravery_. Not having a care in the world for things like cleverness and charm. You know, the _important _things. So yeah. On the badside, I'm not in Ravenclaw: the place where my pureblood family has been sorted into for centuries. On the '_goodside'_" her fingers sketch quotation marks around the word, her face still twisted in a scowl, "I'm brave. So who even cares?"

Lily's frown deepens. Personally, I can't help but think the girl's no more than a stuck up snob.

Naturally though, I don't openly _admit _to this.

"I think Gryffindor's the best house to get sorted into, myself." Lily says quietly, trying to reassure the girl. "Many of the world's greatest wizards have come from there. Why, in a book I read, it said even Dumbledore-"

But the girl cuts across Lily, giving a cold, derisive sort of laugh.

"I don't think you _get it_." Suddenly, she's all patronising. Right. _Definitely _a stuck up snob. "Brave. _Brave_. What's that going to help with?"

"Um…" Lily's eyebrows are raising, she gives me a '_Who does she think she is_?' look, not waiting for my reaction, and turning her head sharply back to the girl. The reassuring act has now completely vanished. "I don't know… just about _everything_." Her tone is one of immense disapproval. The girl looks up at this, eyes raking over Lily disdainfully, and then back to her plate again.

"It's all right for you," She mutters, her voice sullen, "you're a muggleborn. Your parents don't _have _expectations for you. It doesn't _matter _whether you're sorted into a house your family hasn't been, because you haven't even _had _family go to Hogwarts." She stabs at her roast potato, her voice now bitter. "But for _me_? Everything's different."

Lily is suddenly very still beside me.

The girl continues to whinge: "And _of course _you would think being _brave _is important. I mean, it _is_ - if you're planning to go on staggering amounts of reckless missions to save hitherto damsels in distress; pull careless stunts; and win medals and popularity for your so-called-heroic acts. But if you actually _want _to get a decent job, actually _want _to get good grades, and actually have some _trace _of intellect, then you'd consider being '_brave' _as a definite step down from brilliance." She sniffs superciliously, now mashing the potato to a pulp as opposed to actually eating it. "_That's _why I'm so 'cross'. Because instead of being put into Ravenclaw - _where I belong, _I must add - I'm stuck in this house where people value… _bravery_." Her voice adopts a lofty air on this last word, dripping in derision.

There's a pause then. But it's like she's just lit a match, and it's ethanol that surrounds her.

"Pity," Lily says, her voice cold, "I can't quite grasp what you mean." The girl's head snaps up at this comment - eyes narrowing. "Personally, I think bravery is something to value far higher than _intellect_, as you put it. The smartest wizard alive could come face to face with Voldemort, and what would happen, say, if he was from Ravenclaw?"

The girl doesn't answer.

"He'd _cower_," Lily whispers darkly, "cower from _fear_. And a true Gryffindor, someone who is actually _brave_… they'd never act like that in front of him. They'd fight him." She pushes her plate away from her, "And if you don't think that's important, then perhaps you're right. Perhaps you _don't_ belong here." She gives the girl a meaningful look and then moves to get up, but the other girl springs up to her feet beforehand, still with that eerie, ethereal elegance.

A sneer falls over her otherwise pretty features as she looks down at Lily, and once more - the expression radically changes her appearance.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand anyway," the girl hisses venomously back, "what with being no less than a scrawny, ugly _mudblood_." The word - although spat - seems to slip, unbidden, from her lips; she bites them nervously the second after uttering it.

But the damage is already done.

Abruptly, everyone near us freezes. Including the girl. My eyes flicker to Lily, her face is ashen instead of cream, moisture brewing up in her emerald eyes. Behind me, a low voice shatters the still air.

"And for that comment," James steps into view, putting himself in-between the girl and Lily, his stance surprisingly tall and protective for his age. "You should have been sorted into Slytherin."

Everyone's still doesn't move. I suddenly feel useless sitting down like this. I consider standing, hugging Lily or something. But I can't. James looks so angry, so powerful. I'm unable to move.

"She is _not _ugly. And if you ever call her a, a-" James struggles slightly, his aggressive act flickering a bit, "if you ever call her … _that _again, you've got me to answer to" James stands up straighter, finishing threateningly. And even though it's high pitched, no more than the command of a boy, the girl looks scared. She's the same height as he is - surprisingly tall for a girl, but James suddenly seems stronger in his anger. Intimidating.

The girl gives us one last contemptuous look, and then runs from the Great Hall.

And just like that - the tension is cut. The chattering continues, a few people start laughing again, a couple of 3rd year girls start tittering about how adorable James is, and some second year affectionately thumps him on the back.

But James just turns to Lily, his face morphing into concern when he sees her still-shocked face. "Are you okay?" After a slight pause, she nods, and, realising that she needs space, James only smiles gently, walking back to where Sirius sits. Sirius, incidentally, has apparently missed the entire ordeal, since he's just sitting there and _eating, _with such gusto it'slike he predicts there's going to be an unexpected famine. I find myself frowning at him.

I turn back to look at Lily and she doesn't notice my stare. A startled look has graced her face. Her rose lips open then close, forehead crumpled in thought, eyes still fixed on James' retreating back. I'm probably the only one to hear the thing she says; it's barely even a whisper amongst the buzz of conversation in the hall.

"_Thank you_."

***

**(A/N: **Can I hear any awwhhs? No? Grunts of disgust, then? People throwing up? A cry of … a NELEPHANT?

C'mon, that was a _bit _sweet, eh? I know you're probably all thinking that James is coming across as OOC now, but just think for a moment - is he? Just because every _other _fic from this era portrays him as this egoistical, arrogant, immature prat doesn't meant that he _is _one. I'll admit - he won't stay this innocent for ever, he's very much still in his 1st year, still eleven, and doesn't even see Lily in _that way_. (Boy hasn't developed hormones yet, has he?) But I think he isn't as silly and stupid as some people portray them. Anywho. This is just my take on him ;) I happen to like James as a character. Sue me.

Note: there are not many mentions of Iris' future/past in this chapter. I haven't gone and _forgotten _about it all, that was intentional. Rest assured it'll have a big part to play in the developing plot. Which is thickening as we speak (fine, _type_. *grumbles* Stupid technicalities…) Oh! And as Squis7000 pointed out in a review, last chapter I updated on _Valentine's day_. Good Lord, how _romantic _of me. :p

The story's moving along slowly, sure… but steadily too. I think there might be only ONE more chapter of Iris' first year, and then we shall skip a few. I'm thinking 3rd year, personally… but hmmm, that's up for speculation. I realise there's not a lot of action thus far, and I do hope it's not too boring, but rest assured there is PLENTY to come. :p So enjoy the light-hearted stuff while you can. It's not going to stay this way…*Grins manically and _slightly _sadistically*

Now, because variety is the spice of life, I'll give you a _different _sneaky peaky from normal. Mhmm. It's a mysterious sneaky peaky, because it's from a future chapter, but not the next one. I repeat: this will not appear in the next chapter. It's a future one. It's ever so exciting. ;) Do speculate away on it!

**An Ever So Enigmatic (**Oh, the _mystery _of it all!**) Sneaky Peaky:**

I feel completely paralysed. I can't move at all. I can't even _blink_.

The murky green light seems to travel slowly through the air. It is either that, or just like things were in dramatic muggle films - when everything goes into slow motion at the action. I hear what sounds like Remus' soft voice at my side saying a quiet: "_No_," and I want to look at him, want to scream at him to get help, want to run to James - to push him aside-

Because something's wrong. Something isn't right. Not this. It's not _normal _magic.

And then it hits - that murky, deep green light _hits _James, squarely in his chest-

***

Aha! That is where I shall _cut it off! *_Evil grin*

Aren't you all just waiting with bated breath? Eh? It better be bated breath. I'm afraid waiting with perfectly normal breath doesn't count - it must be _bated. _Hear me? BATED.

_I'll update soon ;) Please review!_**)**

Lily - who apologies for the slightly psychotic demands of bated breath… blame it on an absence of sugar. Her dear mother has gone on a diet, and consequently, the entire household if surviving on rabbit food. She also, once again, advises you to spare a few seconds to **review**. If you do, she'll happily hand out some of the spare celery sticks that are currently one of the only things that inhabit the fridge.


	8. Chapter 7: Smoke and Shadows

Disclaimer:

I do not own_ Harry Potter _or any thing else created by JK… actually, you know what? New news: I own this. All of it. Every last little tidbit right down to Dumbledore's woollen socks. It's all mine, I tell you. MINE!

… and don't you _dare _try to claim otherwise…

**(A/N: **Had a good Easter? Tempted to throw eggs at me?

*hides from the tumult of chocolate*

I know, I know, it's been a long time. I broke my **'**I'll update once a week rule**'** pretty spectacularly. I'm sorry. I am. Believe me, 'kay? These few weeks haven't been easy. Okay, admittedly the majority of last week was spent eating copious amounts of chocolate. Meh. Had to happen to some day or another…

If you are here on behalf of Eternal desire: **no**, I have not given up; **yes**, I will update; **no**, I'm not sure when; and **yes **- if you badger me with a PM or review requesting a Sneaky Peaky then a said Sneaky Peaky _will _come your way. Sorry it's taking so long. Blame life.

Before I drivel on, can I say a huge whopping _THANK YOU _to every reviewer! Really, you've got no clue how much reviews help with writing, and heck 105? Lots and lots already! :D

This chapter wouldn't be up here if it wasn't for TheLivelyLinx and BlueTulips amazingly long reviews. And Jade Lyssy Swan, for just about everything. _Thankyouthankyouthankyou. _I'm sorry I'm not listing everyone (you all deserve a mention, really) I'll do that next chapter, but I'm running on a tight schedule (I have always wanted to say that… _tight schedule_. Heh.) so I'm (_trying_) to not blather on for too long.

I'll only briefly explain my absence: My dad has been needing constant attention, hobbling round the house on crutches; I've been on a week-long Easter holiday in Wales where I went PAINTBALLING (no, I'm not a boy. I just really, really felt like shooting my sister with paint) And, I hasten to add, even after a whole DAY of it, I did not get shot _once_. Oh yeah. Paintballing master, eh?; et finalment, I've been doing a lot of coursework. I've got twice as much to do as nearly every other person in my year because of my early exams… I have spent this _entire week _shut up in my room painting, drawing and revising. (Final Art exam is on the 19th, and Final French Oral is on 22nd, so if you don't hear from me past those two dates - then I'm afraid to say I died. Terribly awful, I know. But I'll probably faint from the pressure of it all, keel over, hit my head against some table, get brain damage, and then fall into a coma. Always the optimist, me :p) And there, I'm sad to say, are my excuses _gone_. So if you don't think any of those issues add up to substantial reason for such a late update then you are still permitted to bombard me with blunt pencils.

Okay. That wasn't as brief as I'd planned… meh.

Anywho, enough with all that tosh. (Ooohh, terribly posh sounding, aren't I? Eh, wot? Tosh? Well, Tally ho!)

… I'll stop now.

Ehem. Anyway - with regards to this chapter of mine. I'm not fond of it. Why? Because I'm an impatient person, and I want to get to the crux of the story and am far too eager to get you all hooked on the plot of this. But I _can't _yet, because you need an - albeit brief - back-story to understand it all. I decided against splitting this chapter into two and thought that I'd just get the last of Iris' first year settled with in one big chapter. Sort of like… an extra _large _chunk of cake. Only it's not edible. But hey - You should be pleased, it's extra long :) And cake-like ;)

So, this chapter is more humorous than serious but rest assured all the serious (and Sirius) stuff will come later, in vast proportions, no doubt. ;)

Oh, and please forgive me for the _horrendously _*you'll probably all cringe at it - it's that bad* named wizarding Hairdressers in this chapter. I think it's probably more suited for lions than people :p**)**

**Betwixt and Between **

_By: Lily Swan_

**What Happened Last Chapter:**

But James just turns to Lily, his face morphing into concern when he sees her still-shocked face. "Are you okay?" After a slight pause, she nods, and, realising that she needs space, James only smiles gently, walking back to where Sirius sits. Sirius, incidentally, has apparently missed the entire ordeal, since he's just sitting there and _eating, _with such gusto it's like he predicts there's going to be an unexpected famine. I find myself frowning at him.

I turn back to look at Lily and she doesn't notice my stare. A startled look has graced her face. Her rose lips open then close, forehead crumpled in thought, eyes still fixed on James' retreating back. I'm probably the only one to hear the thing she says; it's barely even a whisper amongst the buzz of conversation in the hall.

"_Thank you_."

* * *

Chapter 7:

**Smoke and Shadows**

I've been at Hogwarts for eight weeks. Eight weeks, five days and roughly nine hours.

No. I have _not _been counting. Only sad people would do that…these, well, these are mere observations. That's all. I happen to be good at keeping track of things. Comes with being good at mathematics.

Not that you do all that much maths at Hogwarts, bar Arthimancy anyway (which, according to all-knowing-Lily, we can't take up until third year). I feel a sigh escape my lips. I really do love it here; in fact, I'm practically dreading the arrival of summer. I don't want to go back. I don't ever want to go back. _Home_. The word provides no connation of warmth, of happiness. I'd rather stay here. Rather put up with Black… (that might be taking it a bit far actually…) But I'd rather stay in the lake. With the squid. Or with-

My rambled thoughts are cut off by the sound of footsteps. It's past time for me to get up. I know I should be washed and dressed instead of tousle haired and still in pyjamas. But it's a Tuesday. A Tuesday _morning_. And guess what I have first lesson?

Transfiguration. With none other than the elusive, presumptuous, and plain _annoying _Sirius Black.

_Git_.

I moan and curl into a deeper ball in my covers. When I can see nothing but red when I open my eyes, I reflect that I am much like some sort of caterpillar: softly encased in my safe chrysalis, quietly anticipating my own metamorphosis and just waiting - waiting to emerge as a butterfly.

But despite this brief moment of being akin to an insect, I realise I'm not quite cut out for the job: for one thing, I am far too hot now - and I don't like the feel of the quilt so close to my face. It's stifling. I peel the covers away from me, and turn over, relishing in the cool side of the pillow.

But now the blaring sunlight is now streaming in through the windows and hurting my eyes - I swear, it's like even _nature _is against me this morning. I readjust the pillow; it's now practically smothering me. I don't care. I'm warm. I'm not being blinded. Everything is peaceful…

Except that _noise_. A whining. I let out a very un-lady-like grunt. Lily's muffled voice sounds particularly irritating this morning.

"Iris, _what _are you doing?"

_Maybe, just maybe, if I don't reply she'll think that I'm too ill to get up… _

There is an exasperated sigh.

_Lie still Iris, stay still enough, and you could be deemed as dead, and therefore unable to participate in such trivial activities such as breakfast and morning lessons-_

"Iris? I know you're awake. People don't grunt like that when they're sleep."

_Oh damn, there goes the dead idea. Nice grunt Iris, real nice definitely-still-alive grunt. Way to give the game away-_

"Why are you still in bed? In fact, back to my original question: what are you _doing_?"

"Refusing that it's morning." I grumble, trying to drone out her bossy voice. It's only the second after I say this that I realise I've spoken out loud. Damn.

Suddenly, I feel the covers whipped from my grasp, and the cold air hits my skin - like the bite of a dawn frost, it makes the fine hairs on my arms spring up, risen by goose-bumps - I yell out, flailing wildly-

And fall flat onto the floor.

I look up to see Lily's disapproving look. At this hour, she doesn't seem to find my clumsiness at all amusing. I scramble to my feet, and when I'm upright, I concentrate on giving her my most deadly glare, although by her expression - it isn't all that deadly.

"That Lily," I say crossly, silently debating how to grab the covers - still tight in Lily's small unyielding fingers - and escape to somewhere quiet, warm too. _Like another bed_. "Was uncalled for." She flicks her wand at me, and before I know what's happening - my hair feels like it's twisting wildly on my head, curling and unfurling and just _squirming_-

So naturally, I do the only thing a sane person _would _do when their own hair decides to turn completely psychotic and begins to writhe like it's some kind of wounded Nargle.

I start screaming.

"Oh spare me the histrionics please," Lily mutters in that soft high chime of hers, a soprano that switches from sweet to irritating on a daily basis. Soon my hair has returned to its usual, inanimate self (and I've decided it should definitely stay that way.)"Honestly, I was just sorting out that haystack of yours."

"It's not a haystack," I mumble, but when I look in the mirror I grudgingly notice my dark hair's a lot neater than before, just twirled in a loose bun now, leaving tresses falling around my small face. All the same, I frown at my reflection; it still looks messy. I swear it's _perpetually _messy. "How'd you learn all those spells anyway?" I ask, pulling on my robes and trying to pull on socks at the same time. (The attempt is abortive; I end up in another crumpled heap) Lily sighs when she helps me up, and her neat brows draw together, wondering why I've asked such a thing - it isn't like me to care much about appearance. The question is only small talk. I don't really care - and Lily's completely just in her confusion, appearance has never bothered me. Nevertheless though, I can't help but compare myself to Lily. I look awfully plain beside her.

Lily's in perfect condition, obviously. Her red hair's pulled back in a pristine ponytail (though I _know _she prefers it down. It's just that James said he liked it down last Monday - she's worn it up ever since.) Her clothes are ridiculously clean; I can't fathom how her shirt stays that white (I think mine's resorted to a sort of cream by now with all its washes. Ah well, at least it's not grey… yet.) And somehow her skirt (I still can't _stand _these things…) is perfectly neat, unlike mine, which is wrinkled slightly. But seriously, pleated grey skirts? I ask you. _Really _impractical.

It is times like this that I want to be a boy. Which is really saying a lot, considering how immature they are.

"Mary taught me them, her aunt used to work with hair apparently, she ran that shop in Diagon Alley, _Maureen's Magic Manes_, or something," I have never heard of such a shop - and I fear that going there would result in looking more like a large cat than anything else - but nod all the same. My mind flits to Mary's rather mousy like hair, and I can't help but think she has definitely not inherited her Aunt's spell work, cruel though the thought is. "Cool huh? Now come on, we're late for breakfast-"

"_Lily_," Her name comes out as a whinge, "I don't even _like _breakfast…"

"No. You're a glutton for those syrup doused pancakes." _Damn, _my mind mutters,_ how'd she know that? _I feel my lip jut out petulantly, Lily is far too assertive. "You're just saying you don't like it because Sirius" - my jaw actually tautens at just his _name _- "spilt pumpkin juice over you last week."

"Spilt? _Spilt_?! He _threw _that juice, you saw! You were right next to me!"

"Iris, he said it was an _accident_-" Lily quails under the look I give her. "Look," She's staring warily at my wand; I know I probably look half possessed by now. I don't really care. Her voice now has a slow, cautious edge to it, like she's worried I'm a firecracker - and about to ignite. "… Listen; let's just go down to breakfast, we can _ignore him_, okay?"

I stand my ground. My voice is very tight.

"And have my cereal turned into maggots again?"

Lily's lips twitch at the memory, and my stare hardens. That was _so _not funny…

"Okay, maybe that wasn't so accidental…"

I rest my case: _git_.

* * *

Breakfast is one of these routinely ordeals you begin to _loathe _at Hogwarts.

I'll start to list why:

Firstly, that sumptuous food we had at the Great Feast? Yeah. Put that _right _out of your head. Turns out that's only for the _Great Feast_, and other festive occasions - whereas the rest of the time, such luxuries are by no means bestowed upon us. (The syrup doused pancakes Lily mentioned are only served on Fridays, today is a Tuesday. There are no such pancakes in sight.)

Take my morning toast for example: it's a pasty cream in the middle and burnt all around the crusts. I have to peel them off to reach the edible bit, because when I say 'burnt' I mean _charcoaled_, and medicinal though charcoal may prove to be - it tastes horrible.

So, after extensive research (well… after asking Lily) I have found out that breakfast is served at 7.00am, and _that's _when the decent food is put out. An average platter of toast is commonly complied of four pieces of perfectly toasted bread, two underdone ones, one that's barely toast and just… well, _bread_, and one burnt piece. Somehow, it's always me that ends up with the latter.

That's hardly my fault. Lily tends to get up at 6.00am (quite _how _I have absolutely no clue) and I struggle to flop out of bed an hour later, which results in me sluggishly stumbling around the common room, pulling on various items of clothing backwards (I even managed to put on a sock wrong the other day… that's severe incompetence in its entirety) and that means that I normally walk bleary eyed into the great hall at around half seven. By then, my choice of breakfast is torn between the burnt toast or the sawdust muesli.

And _that _is on a good day.

Then, there's the fact that even at 7:30am _some _people (I can think of two in particular) seem to be bundled full of sickening energy that really shouldn't be unleashed at such an ungodly hour, for the sake of sane people's health.

James, for example, is currently singing. Yes. _Singing_. It's a tune I recognise from a song that played on Alice's tiny silver wireless that's perched on the edge of her trunk, last night. What the song is I'm not sure. I had never really followed music, never had the time, and now the songs I heard where so full of odd wizard phrases and bizarre proper nouns that I was quite certain I'd never truly catch up.

I try to follow what he's saying: something about "_Looking for your lost foul_" - it might be _soul_, thinking about it; James really isn't the best of singers, it's hard to make out what he's actually saying - "_I just can't seem to control_-" wow. Wizards and witches can rhyme. What an achievement. "_I'm drowning in your sea of hate, and you're waiting to meet your fate. We're polar opposites stuck in time, and I'm walking across the thinnest line…"_

It's only now that I realise Lily is scarlet. I'm tempted to slap my forehead in missing out the obvious - James' attempt at a song is, of course, meant for her.

"_-But your eyes are sharp, your mind is bright and I'll keep on falling, keep on dreaming… through the night…Ooohh. Ooohh." _

"Now Lily," I'm eyeing her plate of poached eggs warily - she's managed to puncture the yolk so that it's dribbled over all the white, but still seems intent on pricking it, each jab is suspiciously in time with the beat of James' song, ("-_I said I'll keep on falling, keep on dreaming…") _"there's no need to take it out on the eggs…"

"Let's go Iris," Lily mutters through tightly shut teeth (she won't even look at James). She makes to stand up, "Come _on_-" she's scrabbling at my hand and trying to pull me up with her. I can hear excited giggling halfway down the table from us - we look completely ridiculous. "Iris. We. Are. Going."

What a hypocrite.

"Lily," I point out quietly, "_You're _the one who insisted on coming down to breakfast in the first place…"

(James has just helpfully started singing louder.)

(Yes, the helpful part was sarcasm.)

"Yes, well-" She impatiently flicks back a tendril of hair as red as her face, "the current _situations _have now changed matters."

"'We can _ignore him_,'" I quote her from earlier.

"Iris! That was about Sirius." (She just had to say his name, didn't she? Have I flushed? Please don't say I'm red too...) "This is a _completely _different person we're dealing with. This is _James._"

"They're different people?" Alice asks, surprised, from my left, and saving my brief embarrassment by grinning a bit. "Could've fooled me."

I pull at Lily's robes to make sit down again. I'm used to doing this. This isn't the first time James has decided to do some act in Lily's favour, last week it was making the house elves serve her toast in specially cut hearts; Lily had turned green at the sight of them. I sigh a bit, "Just eat Lily."

See, this is why I hate breakfast. Not the most peaceful of affairs.

"I'm. Not. Very. Hungry." Again, she's stabbing at her eggs. I've given up on trying to save them; they're meshed up pulp now.

I am about to take the plate away from her (because at this rate, she'll end up killing that too) when a hand is suddenly on the back of my chair. I don't know how I register this fact so quickly, but I just know someone's behind me. I open my mouth to tell James that, honestly, Lily does _not _appreciate being humiliated like this, and that if he wants to keep his limbs he better move quickly - when I actually notice who's standing there.

Sirius.

My mouth sort of closes then opens again; I reflect that I probably look like some fish out of water.

How attractive.

See, I forgot to mention the final reason why breakfast is such a dreadful affair: there's the ever pressing issue that _he _is here. Him. And he'll sit there for an entire breakfast and flick food at you; or jeer at you; or _accidentally _(and I use that word _ever _so loosely) spill pumpkin juice right down your front; or just stand there and stop you from getting up in this really cool_-I'm-Sirius-I-can-do-whatever-the-hell-I-want _sort of way. Or at least, that will happen if you name is Iris Fall.

Unfortunate how I'm named that, isn't it?

"Sirius. Move." Both he and I look to see Lily, fuming, brandishing a fork and glaring at Sirius. "Move now, or you'll regret it."

But he's just standing there, and he's certainly not moving, and I can't for the life of me understand why I don't just cast some jinx on him like I did last week to get him to move. But it's like I'm frozen. Everything's blurred all of a sudden, I can only focus on these stupid little details, like how his hair sort of half messy half elegant, strands of it falling across his eyes. His hand's still lightly on my chair, grey eyes staring at me amusedly and still conveniently stopping me or Lily from getting up. And there's that half smile pulling at the edges of his mouth and I feel - again - like I'm being caught.

My stomach does this weird thing. It twists and squirms and bat-like butterflies thrash around inside it. I'm scared if I open my mouth, some mutant creature will claw its way out.

"Err," I say, because I'm an idiot, and that's just about the only thing I _can _say at the moment. "Um, you're in the way." _Yes Iris. Way to state the obvious. _His eyebrows raise, and he gestures over to James (who's doing this weird thing - eating sausages and glancing up every five seconds. He looks quite demented.)

"I was delivering a message."

Right. Message. Still doesn't explain why you've stopped my exit.

"Black." Lily's voice is very low, "Move." She thrusts the fork at him like it's some sort of spear. Sirius eyes it warily, and after half a second's hesitation, he actually moves back. I'm instantly suspicious of this, and don't dare to walk past him - sure this is all one big elaborate prank. But Lily's vice-like grip is suddenly pulling me away, and before I can register the movement properly we're in the corridor again, and Lily is storming into a bathroom, muttering furiously to me about James and how if he ever sings again she'll end up hexing his vocal chords.

As Lily starts to proclaim her new found hatred towards Sirius as well as James - I realise how we escaped both his and James' presence unscathed.

Note to self: Lily is scary with cutlery.

* * *

I am currently sitting at my desk in Charms. Flitwick has just left the class to deal with the small rotund boy called Peter who is always trailing behind the three boys Remus, James and Sirius like some lost mouse. He He's being escorted to the hospital wing, because although the lesson had begun with 'take out your books, class!' Peter must have misheard, because instead of doing this, he somehow managed to accidentally poke himself in the eye with his wand. Flitwick seemed worried when Peter ran up to a timid Hufflepuff girl - Lily tells me she's Laura Morris - and, clearly under the impression that she was the professor, began to proclaim about how he didn't think he'd be able to do work this lesson, because he couldn't see anything. Flitwick seems sure that he'll be fine, and I've warmed to Peter considerably, he should be praised: he broke the monotony of the Charms lesson.

Now half the class aren't working anymore. The distraction has proved to be ideal - it's unusually warm today, and a girl to my left is fanning herself with a fan she just conjured (I suspect not from thin air, that's a bit advanced - I think she just sort of secretly snatched it up from her bag, personally.) In fact, the only people who _are _actually doing the work are Lily and the brown haired boy - Remus, though he keeps having to look up and nod every few minutes because I think James is under the impression that he's listening to him.

Personally, no, I'm not working either. I'm feeling a wide range of emotions at the moment, and none of them are particularly pleasant: I'm tired because I didn't get enough sleep (honestly, waking up at seven-thirty just isn't _doable _for someone who's naturally lethargic); I'm a little grouchy because of said-sleep-deprivation and the irritating incident at breakfast; I'm bored of this class because even though we're on an interesting topic, today it's theory-based-work which basically means 'copying from the textbook' in smarmy-professor terms; and I'm downright _hungry _because I never did get to eat that toast. Even if it was burnt all around the edges.

And this is the moment when things change. It's all quite sudden. One moment I'm sitting here, internally ranting about the unfairness in life, and the next moment a strong pungent waft hits my nose, and I know it's caused my magic - so yes, that's what stops my mental ranting: I can smell something.

Something _burning_.

Looking up from the textbook, I am able to register several things at once:

1). Something is _definitely _burning.

2). The burning smell is coming from my bag.

3). Other people are also sniffing the air: proves that I am not mad, and have a working nose.

4). Sirius - who _was _opposite me, but is now two seats across from me, talking to James - is laughing.

5). This cannot be good.

I look down at my bag, and let out a little yelp when I see the bright blue flames licking at it. Smoke is pouring out like some noxious poison, anger and worry bubble up in my throat and instantly my eyes swivel round to lock with someone else's.

Sirius is back in his desk in front of me, turned around and grinning. He's got that insufferable air of cool arrogance surrounding him again, and now he's staring at me - why's he doing that? Shouldn't he be gloating with James at his little trick? - and it's as if he's trying to _memorise _my face. I feel this weird shiver go up my spine, and that swooping sensation in my stomach, a sudden déjà vu in the form of a bird... Oh God, do I have some freaky-magically-implanted-déjà vu-bird in my stomach?

_No, you're just going crazy._

Oh damn, he's gone and arched an eyebrow…_Stop looking at him, Iris, you're _angry _at him, remember? _

It doesn't take long for me to turn back to my previous mood; smoke and shadows obscure my vision as I look back to my burning Potions essay - the same essay I lost _sleep _over - and am abruptly livid.

"You are _dead_, Black." I hiss furiously, and without knowing what I'm doing, my actions bypassing rational thought - I find myself suddenly muttering under my breath, raising my arm - ignoring swivelling heads-

And then, before I understand what's happened, I have cast the spell written in the textbook, first try:

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The bright fiery object soars out of my bag - spitting sparks and flame alike, it flies through the air and lands with a thump on the desk in front of me.

There are two seconds when I see Sirius' face, no longer laughing, blanch.

Two seconds in which my thrill at casting this spell turns sour.

And then, when these two seconds are up, there is an explosion.

* * *

**(A/N: **Eh… well, you see…

_I'm now splitting it in two!_

SORRY.

The reason? Well, I find this chapter more humorous than anything else… it wasn't specifically _meant _to be that way… but it turned out that way in the end. But then I suppose this will just make this story oh-so-very diverse, so you'll get bouts of sporadic humour or seriousness or depression depending on my mood. Anywho, this is all important - it shows Iris' character development. She's loosened up a bit in this chapter, but rest-assured all her nerves can (and will) come flooding back. And although, mentally, Iris is more mature - I've tried to bring out her inner eleven-close-to-twelve year old in this chapter. Hence how her view of breakfast is very much a big issue. (Well, it _should _be a big issue. I turn downright scary when my toast burns. Everyone else has to face my wrath because I didn't pay enough attention to the toaster. Being distracted easily sucks.)

Though I stand to say this _isn't pointless_! These are still important foundations for the story, but the next bit gets darker, and that just wouldn't fit, hence the splitting.

**Note**: There will be only ONE more chapter of Iris' first year left from here on in, (are you going to weep, are you?!) continuing where this was cut off and then… well, we'll be diving into the unknown, won't we?

... Ach, I feel like I've slighted you all, cutting it off like this, so I'll provide 3 oh-so-valid-reasons:

1). The previously mentioned darkening tone from here on in…

2). I intend to keep chapters in the word limit of 3,000 - 6,000... Not sure if I'll stick to it, but I'll try.

3). I'm afraid leaving it on the word 'explosion' just seems so _right_.

Besides, this means you'll get the next update _on time_ instead of weeks and weeks late :o

So no, I'm afraid this will not be an extra large chunk of cake… but rather two, perfectly portioned ... cookies.

* * *

**A Chilling (**… shivers down you're _spine _chilling…**) Sneaky Peaky:**

I see him. Malfoy. Sitting across the room from me, chair turned so that it faces me instead of Professor Binns, back slouched against the wall and eyes flatly devoted on one thing. _Fixed _on me. And I can't help it - my muscles are suddenly unbearably tensed, hands clasped around the edge of the desk. I have to fight the urge to run.

A small smirk is twisting his lips, distorting his other sharp features, and I know, instinctively, to look away, to stop staring at him, know it's what he wants. But it's like he's paralysed me, like he's cast some silent spell. I can't move, can't think - his smirk turns larger, morphing into a leer, the window that sits above him casts golden sunlight onto his white-blonde hair, and the black of his robes contrasts defiantly with the pallor of his skin. He's mouthing something, still leering.

_Why hello, Mudblood._

* * *

Are ya scared? Are ya?!

Moving on - I've got a question: who's been watching the latest series of **Doctor Who**? :D Opinions! Shower me with your opinions! (In a lovely review to prove you haven't deserted me, naturally)

ARGH! One more question: Do you go: "Bwhaha!" or "Buhaha!"?! … I'm asking this because I read a book recently that used "Buhahaha!". And I'm telling you this-seemingly-yet-_not_-pointless-fact because I feel that it is downright **PRUDENT **to inform you all that the latter is most incorrect. It's "Bwhaha! And it should be exclaimed on occasions when one is feeling particularly evil. Or when imitating a turkey.

Or is that: "Bwack!"? or "bwuck!"?

Okay. That wasn't much of a question. More of a babble/rant -rather like the rest of this A/N… oh heck, somehow I've got onto asking what noise a turkey makes…_helpme_… Besides, many of you will have stopped reading by now so I should probably just leave you all to get on with your busy productive lives-

*shuts up***)**

Lily: Who would be most grateful if you dropped by with a **review. **Who knows? You might get an extended sneak peek… or even an early chapter. She's also sorry for the abortive attempt at not blathering, babbling, drivelling - whatever you call it. She's coming across as even less normal than… normal. That can't be good.


	9. Chapter 8: Cotton Caught on Thistles

**Disclaimer: **Do I have to think of something remotely amusing each time I write one of these? No. No I don't. I don't own Harry Potter or any related wizarding-whatever things that JK Rowling invented. Alright? There. Said it.

Happy now?

**(****A/N: **Now. Today I've made a promise to myself. I shall _not _babble on for half the chapter. And look - this very statement proves that I can make promises. So you're to discard any memories of me not keeping promises in the past, and instead keep this memory firmly in mind. See? Short. Babble. It's snappy. Concise. Rather like these punctuated sentences.

Are you proud?

I'm sorry this took such a long time. But I updated, eh? So I can't be punished _too _much… and really, you can't go out and torture me, seeing as I'm pretty much dead from suffering through just about a billion GCSE mock exams. (Okay. About 10, not a billion, but pretty darn close) and… yeah. They were gruelling. _Gruelling_, I tell you! So I really shouldn't be punished any further. That'd be just cruel. And you're not cruel people, are you?

And yes. That's a rhetorical question.

Moving on, this chapter is… well, it's _different_. But I stuck to my word, and it's Iris last first-year chapter. It was terribly tempting to cut the chapter off at some points, I can tell you. But I didn't. So there. I deserve a pat on the back. It's nice and long too - so you shouldn't have anything to complain about…(Well, aside from the, erm, whole thing I said last chapter about keeping this in the 3,000 - 5,000 word limit… but I suggest you just _ignore _that for this chapter ;))

Besides, it's got an odd sick twist of humour and a taster of the dark stuff too, so hopefully it'll please you all. Here you get to see what Iris is like when she's panicked, which has sort of stemmed from my rational (or not so rational) thought process when _I'm _panicked. So forgive her if she gets a _little _carried away with some mental scenarios. She might be slightly prone to exaggeration. It's all healthy. And doesn't suggest any mental instability whatsoever.

Promise. ;p**)**

**Betwixt and Between**

_By: Lily Swan_

Chapter 8:

**Cotton Caught on Thistles**

McGonagall holds up the smouldering remains of the firecracker.

I am sitting in her office, I think my _knees _have cramp, and I feel sick.

For future reference: this is not a very good combination.

Why am I sitting in her office instead of Flitwick's? Because shortly after I did that spell, after the explosion - the room had filled with acrid smoke, Flitwick had burst through the door when it had cleared; witnessed nearly all of the class underneath desks shielding their faces; Sirius slumped unconscious in his chair-

And seen me, standing up, wand still raised, looking very, very shocked.

McGonagall's voice snaps me back to the present.

"Did you put this on Mr Black's desk, Miss Fall?"

All of a sudden, my throat has turned into a tunnel, and it has become exceedingly hard to push out an answer.

"I…" My entire mouth too dry to speak, I wet my lips and try again, "I…" Crap. My brain's dead. Just _dead_. I can't think. Good God, if I can't flipping _think_! "Well, you see…" This settles it; I am officiously the world's worst victim. Ever. I should be shot. Or stunned. Or whatever the wizard-equivalent or being shot is.

"No, I _don't _see, Miss Fall, that's partially the point of the matter…"

"Well, it's just that…I'm not entirely sure I know what you mean," My words are cautious, careful - but the professor before me doesn't seem to appreciate the risks I'm taking in even _attempting _to talk. The eyebrows on professor McGonagall's forehead seem to be on a mission to completely disappear into her hairline.

"You're 'not sure'," She whistles, "is it that I'm not being clear enough? Would you like me to _reiterate _for you? Or are you just incapable of understanding English?" At this complete lack of sympathy, the bitter tang of condescending in her words, my mind turns into a raging inarticulate mass of fury. This is _completely _unfair - just because I can't _explain _it, just because the evidence was planted in _my bag_, just because I can't argue back - doesn't mean that it was _me_!

But when I speak, it's not the proud, confident voice that I have in my head. I don't sound sarcastic and unruffled like I want to - the voice that leaves my dry lips is tremulous, bordering on stuttering.

"No - no, I mean - it wasn't… _I _didn't - It was in my bag, I had to move it - I didn't mean it to happen like this - I thought-"

"The question," She cuts across me, the hardness of her glare silencing any retort, "is not what was _meant _to happen, but _why _it happened in the first place? And what _I_, personally - as your Head of House - would like to know, is _who _made it happen? And whether that person, was you?"

I don't answer. Because I can't. Because my thoughts are entangled and confused and I don't even know what _I _think anymore. I don't know how to get out of this or how to explain myself, and for some reason, the image of Sirius' white face seems to burn on the insides of my eyes, and my blinking doesn't seem to be clearing it. She's still staring at me, all haughty and powerful looking in the dim light, and I feel I should be proclaiming something - standing up for myself, but all I can do is dart my eyes back to my feet, feeling an overpowering wave of shame flush up my face and neck.

After another moment she sighs, like she's disappointed in me, and passes a hand over her eyes, saying in a quieter, though not at all softer, voice:

"Was it you who put this on Sirius Black's desk?" And a question like that - such a direct one - leaves no room for the truth of the matter.

A silence stretches out before us, and like the film of a bubble, it's only a second longer before it bursts.

"Yes," I admit, defeated. "It was me."

"And you are quite certain about that, are you? Miss Fall? It was definitely you?" She's angry now; I bite back the argument I so desperately want to shout at her. That it is in no way my fault, that it was Sirius who was the reason for the danger even if he _did _end up getting hurt. The voice in my head is furious: _I've just admitted it, haven't I? Stop fishing for confirmation to make me feel bad. It isn't _me _who should be feeling bad. It's. Not. _My. _Fault._

And with those thoughts, I can completely reflect on how this woman must be seeing me: no more than another petulant child, making excuses at any accusation. And really, is her view entirely inaccurate?

Professor McGonagall's patience is waning, "Are you _quite certain_?" she repeats sharply.

Forcing out words is like coughing up sand, "Quite sure." I manage quietly.

"Right then." And then suddenly, voice like the crack of a whip: "detention. Nine o'clock. My office."

I dutifully nod my head, and then turn, restraining myself from running from the classroom.

* * *

It's nine a clock. I haven't spoken to anyone since the _incident _(that's what I head Mary calling it at Lunch - everyone was whispering about it, so I left to wait outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom twenty minutes before lessons would start up again). I haven't seen James all day, or Remus, or Peter… not even _Lily_.

They all hate me, don't they?

"Your detention," McGonagall says sharply, effectively shutting up my panicked train of thought, "shall not take place tonight. I am not so cruel to let my own students slack from tiredness in lessons. After I have informed you of what your detention is, you are to go straight back to your dormitory and think about your actions today, and then, sleep. I won't have you un-rested on my behalf. Do you understand?"

_Is that meant to be an act of kindness? Am I meant to thank her?_

I settle with a jerky nod.

Brusquely, she hands me a piece of parchment, I look down to it, confused.

"I… I already have a timetable, professor." My voice is small.

Her reply is clipped.

"I know that. This is the timetable for a student who is unable to attend her classes. The ones highlighted, are the classes that you will attend for her." I look down to see the red ink circles that blemish the paper like blots of blood, my heart falls. "History of Magic?" I ask, not meaning to say it out-loud. _My worst class_.

"Correct." McGonagall says, satisfaction lying dormant somewhere underneath her cold bark, "I have decided that your detention is to be educational, as well as a form of punishment." _For a crime I didn't exactly commit_. "These classes, take place during your lunch break. One hour long classes for a week, I think, ought to set you straight."

Panic bubbles up to my lips "But - I can't - this is OWL level-"

"I know that," The words are weary, "and you are perfectly capable. If you were taking the exam, of course not. But it does not requite acute intelligence to sit in class and _listen_, Miss Fall. That is all you will be doing. Professor Binns will be talking, and you will be writing what he says. Simple." No. It really wasn't that simple, at least, not to me.

"So… my detention-"

"-is to take notes for Louise Atterbry in her History of Magic class. Yes."

_That wasn't what I was going to say. My detention is actually, McGonagall, to make me make a complete fool of myself, because you know damn well I don't know a clue about wizarding history_.

But of course, I don't say this.

"Notes," I repeat, rather stupidly.

She purses her lips, intolerant. "_Flawless _notes. She is currently in the hospital wing with severe trauma and multiple burns to her left arm." I look up quickly, curiosity catching me out; McGonagall's eyes narrow, "Fire," She says coldly, "is not something to play with, Miss Fall. I hope you will remember that next time you plan to plant a dangerous object on someone's desk-" Perhaps it looks like I'm about to interrupt, for she says quickly, "Whether or not your intention was to harm."

McGonagall starts filing papers on her desks, and looks up at me, small, scrawny, in the light cast by a hovering candle, "I must say," She looks back to her papers, "I expected better of you, Iris," The use of my first name does weird things to my stomach. It knots and squirms uncomfortably, like a butterfly pricked to a pin. "You have been consistently good for the time I have taught you. I didn't expect your antagonism with Mr Black to intervene with your behaviour."

Do I blurt out the truth? Yell till she actually _listens_? Again, the maddening urge to fight back rears inside of me, thick and fine as black smoke. With considerable effort, I force it to concede defeat, but the taste of my unspoken retort still smoulders painfully, scorching the inside of my throat as it goes back down.

She looks up at the clock, sees that it's forty minutes until ten, and stands up. "Now," she says, and I ignore the fact that her voice is considerably softer, "go back to Gryfindor tower and get a good nights sleep."

* * *

I walk back in silence. The castle's sort of eerie at night - flickering candles give statues and busts wavering shadows, like ink spreading out over water. It strikes me that the tempo of my heart matches my pace; my footsteps seem too noisy, too quick. I don't want to run, but there are too many alcoves, too many spaces, some part of my head is suddenly filled with terrible images of monsters and evil, lurking behind the corner, just ready to leap out-

I mentally shake myself. _This is silly, you're acting like a six year-old. Stop it. This is Hogwarts. The worst that can happen is Peeves dropping a stink pellet on you, and that's easily fixed by a shower. Just keep walking. _

I keep my eyes trained to the floor, I don't need to look up; I know the way back to Gryffindor tower, Hogwarts seems to be imprinted in miniature in my head, like a mental map. I think back to the detention I've got, it's not so bad, really. It's just taking notes, nothing too terrible.

But I'll have to take them during my lunch break. Lily will wonder where I am, won't she?

I can't tell her. I just can't. What if she hates me for it? She's always been against rule breaking - that's why she hates James so much, he's always getting into trouble.

Oh God, wait, what if she _already _hates me? She does. She must do. It's not like I managed to blow up half the Charms classroom discreetly, is it? Heck. _Everyone _saw that. James and Remus - they'll hate me too. I hurt their friend, I bloody _knocked him unconscious_. I've hurt him. Sirius.

_How badly?_

Suddenly, I find myself turning on the spot - and I'm not even walking anymore - I'm running, down two corridors, down a flight of stairs, my breath sparse, skidding to a halt.

Right outside the hospital wing.

* * *

I'm still outside, by the way. I haven't actually gone _in _yet. And yes, it's been over ten minutes now.

Why aren't I just barging in, waking him up, and apologising like crazy? I have no clue. I'm scared, I guess. I'm scared he'll get mad at me, and throw about twenty curses my way (which he probably could, you know, he and James are definitely turning out to be the best at spell work.) And I'm also scared that he'll just stare at me, blankly, and then I'll get informed by a forlorn Madame Pomfrey, (who has never, until this awful moment, been subjected to a forlorn state of mind) that he's undergone serious head trauma, and brain-damage, and has forgotten all of his memories. Oh god. I'm going to go to prison, aren't I? The one with all those creepy things in cloaks swooping about. I mean, I've done the equivalent of an all-powerful-Obliviate _- _a _permanent _memory charm on a 12 year old!

Oh heck. Oh heck, oh heck. What if he doesn't wake up at all? What if I haven't just knocked him unconscious, but knocked him into a _coma_?! God. That's what I've done, haven't I? That's why McGonagall was giving me such disappointed looks…That's why she said the whole: "Fire isn't to be played with." Of course it ruddy well isn't - look what it's done! It's sent Sirius Black into a life-long sleep! He's catatonic! Lifeless! He is _no more_…

That's it. James is going to _kill _me.

* * *

Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here. I've sort of nestled myself into the wall now - the alcoves are surprisingly comfortable, when you sort of forget how hard they are and everything. And while I've been sitting here, listening to the occasional groan from the Hospital wing and the scurrying footsteps of Madame Pomfrey, I've decided on several things:

1). I can't go into the hospital wing. Because Sirius is probably in a coma, and I think if I see him there, all limp, and lifeless then I'll probably just about implode with guilt and, well, that wouldn't be so great.

2). I can't go back to Gryffindor tower, because James is probably waiting there with a large mallet or something. And Peter will be next to him with some rope. And Remus will just… well, Remus probably won't join in because he's just nice like that - but he'll sort of wait on the sidelines, throwing me the occasional sympathetic glance, while James sends me into a coma with the said mallet, and then Peter… well. He'll tie me up. Because otherwise he'd look a bit silly just watching with this bundle of rope in his arms.

3). I can't go back to the dormitory, because let's face it: even if I somehow _did _manage to get past the soon-to-be-murderer-James-Potter, she'd be so shocked and horrified that I'd not only been assigned a week-long detention, but was also about to be carted off to Azkaban, that she'd, I don't know - faint. And then the rest of Gryfindor house would wake up, see Lily unconscious on the floor and whisper things like: "_Look - she's gone and killed another one!_" and "_There goes victim number 2_." which would just make me feel like utter rubbish, to be honest. And I don't think I could deal with that.

So yeah.

I probably shouldn't be left, alone, to think like this.

It can't be healthy.

* * *

You're not going to believe this.

I fell asleep.

I actually _fell asleep_.

In none other than that poxy little alcove. With my arms wrapped around my torso, head on knees, huddled against the stone wall (which was damp for a reason that I'd rather not ponder on so now my left arm's damp too.) This is turning out to be one of the worst days ever. And it's made doubly worse by the fact that I am completely _freezing_. Seriously. I'm so cold my toes feel like they've got frostbite. So right now I'm scurrying back to Gryfindoor tower as quickly as I can. Scurrying. That's right: I'm a mouse.

Screw getting brutally concussed by James. I don't care anymore. I am cold, I am damp, and it's about two in the morning, so if anyone even _thinks _of approaching me with a mallet I'll hex them into-

_What was that? _

I freeze. I could have sworn I heard something. A soft snicker. My heart suddenly starts pumping furiously. _This is silly. Nothing's here. It's two in the morning your… ears… are playing tricks on you. Just get to bed. _But for some reason I can't move at all. It's like I'm stuck in concrete. I see a shadow shift in the darkness - and suddenly I'm not rooted still anymore - I turn on my heals, ready to sprint - running down the corridor-

And falling. I've tripped up. A dull throb sears up through my knees as they connect with the stone floor.

That's when I hear him, the owner of the soft laughter. His breath is clammy against my neck, he's right next to me.

"Down she falls. How fitting."

A knife cuts through the air, and all the breath has caught in my throat.

I'm suddenly wrenched upwards, but not by him - by magic, I'm lifted into the air and set roughly to the ground, and I see him. The quartz eyes, equally pale hair - bleached silver in the moonlight - a smirk twisting his thin mouth.

"And so we meet again, little mudblood."

I feel all sick. I want to get back to the tower - I don't want to be here. It's not safe. _He _isn't safe.

"Can't say I'm overly happy about it."

I swear - it just slipped out!

"Oh, by contraire, I'm most _thrilled _we've finally found time to chat." He's dragging me over to the side, he's got the collar of my shirt, why aren't I screaming yet? He's so much taller - about six foot, I'm a whole foot shorter than him. A whole _foot_.

His hand cups my cheek - and I suddenly want to vomit on him.

"Get. Your. Disgusting. Hands. Off. Me."

Oh _God_. I did not just say that. _I did not just say that!_

"What did you say?"

I think he heard. I'm not going to ruddy well repeat it, am I?

He presses me up to the wall, pins down my arms - and my struggle is useless, I aim a kick at his side, only to feel sharp pain seer through my wrist. I am too stupid to think of my wand - too stupid to try and run.

Too scared to scream.

A wand is jabbed against my throat, I can't breathe.

"It's about time I taught you your place."

And suddenly all the strength in me vanishes. Fades away into smoke. And I'm just a shell. Just eleven soon to be twelve. And I can't do anything to defend myself. I'm that damn weak.

My own voice is wispy: cotton caught on thistles, I can't look at him when I speak.

"Please let go of me."

He grins - euphoric.

"What's that, mudblood? Can't handle a little pain," He twists my arm so that it's outstretched towards him, and I relinquish a little gasp, breathy and tight. It hurts to speak.

"Please let go. _Please_."

He's leering - he's _sick _- he's pinning against a wall and hurting me for _fun_.

"Manners won't help you now, little mudblood…"

_Kick him. Yell out. For heaven's sake - fight back!_

"Let's see how you handle this…" I feel dizzy; he's removed the wand from my throat - tracing it down my arm - I'm too slow to stop him: I see a flash of scarlet - the trickling sensation of warm liquid- "how strange… not as muddy as I thought… perhaps if I dug deeper-" He grabs my chin, looks firmly into my eyes and smiles, and then presses the wand down harder.

I can't help it - I scream. Suddenly, there are stains blood on his shirt, a smarting scar on my arm - I kick out violently, desperate to get him off - my eyes fall back to the wound, see the crimson, my head whirls. Oh God, it's like I can _taste _it - rust, metal-

Malfoy clamps a hand to my mouth; I watch panic flash through his eyes.

"Stop that." He mutters, "Stop it - stop yelling."

I feel like I'm going to be sick, everything's spinning - I watch, distantly, as a portrait on the wall wakes up, bleary eyed and confused. Moustache quivering as his eyes widen, Malfoy follows my gaze, and before the portly man can do more than let out a gasp, a black curtain has obscured the painting.

Am I the one making that noise? I must be; my throat is raw, and the hand Malfoy has clamped over my mouth is suddenly pressing harder. But suddenly, my muffled screams aren't the only noise - there are the sound of footsteps approaching, echoing of the walls. Methodical, quickening steps. But I can't summon any relief - my panic's too potent - I scream louder, thrash harder - and for the first time, I see Malfoy's resolve falter.

He looks fearful.

"Shut up!" He hisses, "Shut _up_."

Right then, I do something very brave, very pathetic, and very weird, in one impulse-driven-moment.

I bite Lucius Malfoy.

And I _wish _I was kidding.

He curses under his breath, bringing back his hand that was seconds before covering my mouth - there is actual blood on his hand, I have _drawn blood _- and there's a shard of utter incredulity in his quartz eyes before I draw back my hand, curled up into a tiny fist and slam it into his jaw.

It's not much, but it knocks him back a bit. And it creates that crucial millisecond of time, in which I dart under his arm, and pelt down the corridor. A part of me knows he could cast a hex any second now - paralyse me, trip me up, stun me - but then there's the fact of which direction I'm running in. _Towards _the closer-approaching staccato footsteps - I'm round the corner, _yes_! - I look back, and relief swells up inside me like some warm comforting balloon.

But naturally - probably due to the fact that I happen to be one of the most misfortunate people on the _planet_ - that balloon decides to burst. Because a second later, I'm scrawled across the floor, and I can't quite recollect how I've got there. I feel a sensation of a dull throb - much less than the sharp pain I had when Malfoy cut me - just a dull, heavy blow against my skull.

And all of a sudden, there's a frantic pair of hands on my face, and someone's hauling me up - and I think: _It's Malfoy_! - and so start punching feebly with my hands, only to find that I can't punch anymore… because my arms are all limp. And I'm looking up - looking up into someone else's face - and it certainly isn't Malfoy. Because this guy's a lot smaller, and he has a much less evil-grip, and his hair's blackish - not platinum… and…and…

And he's saying my name…

"Iris, _Iris? _Iris, you're bleeding? What? I don't get - no stay still-" and I recognise that voice, that's the voice I've been fretting over all day - it's the same one that taunted me this morning. It's the bloody voice that _caused _all this!

"You…" I try to explain, but for some reason the words taste all fuzzy and weird in my mouth. He looks genuinely worried. Why? Is my tongue suddenly ridiculously large? Huh. I feel awfully light-headed for some reason. Was I scared before? What was all that about? Everything's _fine_. _I'm _fine. _He's _fine…oh, maybe not - he's waving his wand about… that's not exactly a sign of fine-ness…

"Just stay still Iris - I'll get Madame Pomfrey - _oh_, she is _so _going to kill me - no, no wait - don't move! You've hit your head!"

I have not hit my head. He's being preposterous. I'm going to sit up, and confront him, because this is just silly. He should be in the hospital right now, what on earth is he doing skulking around the corridors? Honestly. It's probably past three am!

"You-" I try again, but he's not listening, he's muttering one heck of a lot of weird spells, and I'm sure he shouldn't be doing that, because let's be honest, he's about as qualified a Healer as I am a hippogriff. (Which I'm not, by the way. At all hippogriff-esque, I mean.)

"-Should just stay back, okay? Don't try and move, please, Iris. Just don't move, 'kay? I'm going to lift you up now-" What? _Why_?! "hey - hey, easy there… I'm just - I need to get you back to-"

I've pressed my hand against his mouth. I need him to shut up. This isn't making any sense.

I look him straight in the eye, determined to not blink first.

"You… are meant… to be… in a…_coma _right now…"

Then, without warning I can see bright lights. Spiralling circles. And suddenly I'm tipping; there's a second where I swear I can feel a feverish hand pressed against my cheek, and then I'm falling, falling backwards…

The last thing I'm sure about is Sirius Black, perplexed, saying: "_What_?"

* * *

Oohh. _Action _;)

This might seem like an odd way to culminate Iris' first year… but what the hell. I'll be different. I've decided to 'Go out with a bang' as they say. (No one says that… do they?) I have a slight apology to make, because the sneak peak I gave last chapter… well, it never really showed up, did it? That's because I've cut out a scene I was going to include: Iris' detention, with boring professor Binns. It didn't fit with the rest of this chapter, so it's been cut off, sadly. But if anyone wants to read it - I can send it off in one super long cut-out-not-really-a-sneak-peak-more-of-a-deleted-scene-type... thing?

Sorry about the change of page breaks - fanfiction's decided it doesn't like me using stars today, and I'm too tired to fix things... anway: 11 reviews for the last chapter, and well, personally - I prefer this one… so, d'you reckon there should be more reviews for this one? Nod if you agree…. Right. I definitely had a tumult of virtual-nodding-vibes just then. I'll take that as a yes ;)

_Thankyouthankyouthankyou_ to my wonderful reviewers (all eleven of you!) : _Jade Lyssy Swan_; _dancingqueensillystring_; _Blastendedskrewt_; _Sirius'sGirlForEver_; _Spartans2300_; _I'S Watcher_; _krazykook_;_ Mrs. Rose Malfoy_, _Joelle8_; _Sumii_; and last, but certainly not least, _Squid7000_. I owe you all a lot. Hope you liked the chapter, it's dedicated to all of you :p **)**

* * *

**Sneaky Peaky (**which _will actually show up_!**) of next chapter:**

"Iris, is that a corset? Bloody hell - you're stick thin as it is, you don't need to look any _thinner_!"

"It's a waist cincher," I say impatiently, "and I don't _want _to wear it anyway. I told you, stupid old fashioned mothers aren't worth the hassle. Just get it off - I can't breathe properly."

Lily let's out one of her bossy huffs and grudgingly obliges, pulling loose the strings-

Right then the rickety toilet door swings open, and sandy-haired first year boy stares up at us. Me, half undressed from the waist upwards and Lily clutching the corset that was previously covering my chest. He stares for one more horrified second, and then I slam the door in his face, sinking to the floor and moaning. Lily's the one who finally speaks:

"I think we've just scarred that poor boy for life. I really do."

* * *

Lily - who has really cut back on the babble, and who would **LOVE **you if you reviewed. Not in a creepy way either. Honest. And she knows you will review, because after all, one doesn't just send out Virtual-nodding-vibes for no reason now, do they? :p


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